


Wild Card

by Reyanth



Category: Tenipuri - Fandom, Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:10:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6440920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyanth/pseuds/Reyanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The perverted old man gig was just a ruse... until he met one boy who challenged his perceptions of age, and the appropriate, until they shattered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I do not condone pedophilia in any way. This is pure fiction based on one character too mature for believability and another too immature to be a decent human being.
> 
> Besides, we all know Tezuka's secretly a long-lived immortal stuck inside a teenager's body, right?
> 
> Now that we've gotten that out of the way, read on if you wish...

When Nanjirou agreed to take over for the old lady for a while, not even he believed he could have gotten into so much trouble. After all, it was just to coach a bunch of middle school kids and that cocky brat of his in tennis.

He didn’t count on the wild card that was Tezuka, Kunimitsu.

*

Tezuka, Kunimitsu was an average fourteen year old boy. He happened to be incredibly attractive [according to the frequent swoons and sighs as he passed by] and very smart [so much so that his teachers lived in mortal fear of being corrected and often deferred to him when they were in a bind]. Oh, and he was a nationally ranked tennis player and captain of one of Japan’s most notable middle school tennis teams.

But other than that, he was a normal boy.

As most boys his age, he was aware of the romantic dramas surrounding him. In fact, in the case of Tezuka’s teammates, he would have to be blind, deaf, and mentally disabled to miss the signs. However, unlike most boys, he didn’t get involved. He wasn’t interested.

Normal enough, right?

Not according to Fuji, Syusuke. Then again, the sex-obsessed tensai was hardly one to exemplify normal.

“Tezuka, when your lagging hormones finally kick in, I’m first in line, alright?” Fuji had said once, sporting that deceptive smile he was prone to.

“Is that what you said to Echizen?” Tezuka had replied, very calmly, and with the appropriate touch of amusement.

Fuji chuckled. “Oh, despite what you may expect, he has no problems with hormones.”

Looking back, Tezuka realized that he shouldn’t have been surprised after all. At least, not after meeting Nanjirou.

In fact, a lot of things changed when he met Echizen, Nanjirou. That was the day that Tezuka actually became a teenaged boy.

*

“Alright, children, gather round!”

“What are you doing here, stupid old man?” Echizen snapped at the man who had just wandered onto their courts attired as a monk—a man Tezuka recognized.

He wondered what Echizen, Nanjiroused was doing, charging onto the courts as if he owned the place. Of course, he was once a top pro, and probably had the right to charge onto whatever court he liked, but this was Seigaku property and Tezuka had to keep up a sharp image.

“That’s no way to talk to your old man, boy. Especially one who’s doing you such a big favor,” Nanjirou scolded his son.

“Excuse me,” Tezuka began.

“Ah, Captain-chan! The old lady said you’d be in charge when I got here…”

“You mean Sumire-chan?” Fuji cut in before Tezuka could respond, earning a glare from the captain.

“Sumire-chan…. Sumire-chan…” Nanjirou appeared to be trying to place the name… “Ah, doesn’t ring a bell. The old hag that runs this club. Tough as nails, not too pretty… has a cute granddaughter-” His mouth was suddenly occupied by a familiar cap.

“Ryuzaki-sensei. Get on with it!” Ryouma growled. “What are you doing here?”

Nanjirou ended the comical choking routine and removed the cap, suddenly turning mildly serious. “Right. Ryuzaki. Anyway, I’m here as your temporary coach as a favor to that crazy, old-”

“You’re substituting for Ryuzaki-sensei?” Tezuka asked in shock.

In barely a second, he experienced a rush of excitement at being coached by a former pro, anticipation at having the possible chance to play such a man, apprehension concerning the obviously unstable Echizen father/son relationship, and satisfaction that he knew what this man was really capable of, unlike most of his teammates who were staring in open-mouthed shock at the apparently lecherous monk.

“I am, captain-chan. And you had all better be prepared to work hard,” Nanjirou answered with a nod.

Tezuka held his eyes for a moment, still processing the recent wave of emotions. Then, he nodded. “In that case, welcome.”

“You can’t be serious-”

“Echizen!” Tezuka snapped, gaining the first year’s attention instantly. “While I understand that the situation might be awkward for you, you will have to accept and deal with it. Ryuzaki-sensei knows what she is doing, and if this is what she has decided on during her absence, then you will endure obediently, along with the rest of us.”

“Take that, boy!” Nanjirou cried—reverting to his teasing, jovial self.

Tezuka resisted the urge to rub his temples. Just what was Ryuzaki-sensei thinking?

*

A week later, Nanjirou sat on a bench, over-seeing two matches between friends and rivals. In his hands he held a Doubles for Beginners book that he had snatched out of his son’s bag as cover for a dirty magazine. He pretended to be watching the matches, whilst pretending to read the book—and thus the magazine—whilst actually watching the matches he was supposedly shirking off in the first place.

Not that he hadn’t exploited many opportunities to indulge in his magazines away from the watchful eye of Rinko over the last week, but these matches were important. The magazine covered by the book was just to annoy his son, killing two birds with one stone, though he was actually paying close attention to what was happening on the courts.

He would probably only be coaching these kids for three more weeks but they’d quickly proven themselves to be made of strong character and talent and he figured he might as well leave his mark on them in the time that they were his. It was the least he could do for that old woman, after all. 

Besides, he couldn’t get enough of seeing Ryouma scowl as the team praised his methods and the leaps they’d made towards improvement in only one week. Oh, and then there was the way the captain would never fail to make his son run laps due to a commotion he himself had caused. 

It was just too much fun.

Speaking of the captain… Now there was a character.

Tezuka was doubtlessly gifted, and very serious about his rank and his duty, not to mention his game. He loved tennis, and he strived to lead and guide his team as best as he could—which was quite well, indeed.

For a kid, he’d earned a lot of respect from not only his team, but from teachers and parents as well. Never once had Nanjirou seen him behave in a manner befitting a fourteen year old boy. Tezuka was, to all intents and purposes, a fine adult stuck in a teenager’s body.

While Nanjirou had originally been thrilled at the chance to observe and bully his son, his attention had drifted mostly towards the young captain since that first day. He was just fascinated by Tezuka’s dedication and responsibility. 

That, and the boy’s game-play. His was one of the matches currently being played.

Nanjirou did a double take.

Or not.

While he’d been reflecting, the match had ended, leaving Vice Captain, Oishi beaten by his superior. While hardly a surprise, it was fascinating to see how Tezuka handled it.

He shook Oishi’s hand and told his second in command just how far he’d been pushed, giving encouragement whilst not leaving any false hope that he could have actually been beaten.

Tough kid, that Tezuka.

Nanjirou was so busy studying Tezuka that he only actually realized the captain was approaching him when the boy bowed politely in greeting.

“Ah~ Captain-chan! Nice game!” Nanjirou cried, grinning as he lifted a hand to rub his head, consequently ‘accidentally’ dropping the dirty magazine hidden within the Doubles For Beginners book.

Tezuka glanced coldly down at it, then proceeded to ignore the event and sit sedately beside Nanjirou. It was quite disappointing, really. Ryouma would have made a nice fuss but there was just no goading Tezuka…

“Thank you, but Oishi’s Moon Volley pressed me hard in the fourth game,” Tezuka said quietly, his eyes firmly focused on the Kikumaru-Momoshiro match.

“Liiiiaar!” Nanjirou accused, grinning. “He didn’t even use it in that game.”

Tezuka actually glanced at him with an expression of surprise. “So you were watching!” the captain exclaimed; an unnaturally breathy tone to his voice.

“Of course,” Nanjirou replied indignantly. “What else would I be doing? Reading dirty magazines?” Nice. That almost managed a twitch, although Tezuka did seem a little put out for some other reason.

After staring at him for a few more seconds, Tezuka turned back to the second match, his composure regained. “They’re both playing well but Momoshiro needs to relax a little.”

*

For once in his life, Tezuka felt self conscious. For once in his life, he was aware of being watched. For once in his life, he wanted to be watched.

It began to annoy him and fray at his nerves that for all he wanted Nanjirou to pay attention to his game, the ex-pro was sitting there pretending to read a book for beginners that no-one would be fooled by in a million years. Instead of watching Tezuka play, he was more interested in staring at pretty girls in swimsuits. 

As a result of his irritation, Tezuka went a little harder on Oishi than he had intended. He felt bad when the match ended and he had hardly given Oishi a chance to fight back and evolve. It wasn’t really a game worthy of him as captain.

Thankfully, Oishi didn’t seem to mind. He was as cheerful as usual, and took the defeat gracefully, allowing Tezuka’s mind to wander back to the annoying man on the coach’s bench.

Before he really thought about it, Tezuka walked over to Nanjirou-sensei and bowed a polite greeting. They had agreed to call him by his given name rather than the Echizen surname, as that could get a little confusing with the two of them around. Still, Tezuka had a hard time even thinking of addressing the former pro so casually. Then again…

“Ah~ Captain-chan! Nice game!” Nanjirou-sensei cried in surprise—though what he had to be surprised about, Tezuka had no idea. The coach had been staring directly at him as he approached. Nanjirou then proceeded with typical antics, dropping his book and magazine; probably hoping to get a rise out of Tezuka.

No such luck. Tezuka was prepared. He tightly shuttered his irritation with the man and sat down on the bench. As he did so, an idea formed that was just a touch insolent…

“Thank you, but Oishi’s Moon Volley pressed me hard in the fourth game,” he bluffed, expecting to catch Nanjirou out with the lie.

“Liiiiaar!” Nanjirou replied, startling Tezuka. “He didn’t even use it in that game.”

Not only had Nanjirou been paying attention but he remembered the course of the match precisely and so readily… Tezuka hadn’t been expecting that. His surprise showed.

“So you were watching!” he breathed, wondering at the twinge of pride, or was it happiness, that sparked within him.

“Of course,” Nanjirou-sensei answered. “What else would I be doing? Reading dirty magazines?”

Tezuka almost rose to that bait and pointed out that he had been doing exactly that—but then he realized two things. One: Even though Nanjirou had been reading dirty magazines, he’d somehow managed to follow the match so he had probably only used the magazines as a tool to annoy his son and had indeed been watching the match. Two: Tezuka snapping at him was probably exactly what that immature, overgrown child wanted, so the best retort Tezuka could supply was to ignore the bait altogether.

His gut swimming with an odd mixture of pleasure, pride, and irritation, Tezuka turned away from Nanjirou-sensei to focus on Kikumaru and Momo. He nudged the conversation back in the right direction. Meanwhile, he waited for the coach’s answer to either verify or correct his suspicions. After all, Nanjirou was very knowledgeable for all that he loved to goof around. Tezuka could learn a lot. “They’re both playing well but Momoshiro needs to relax a little.” The statement had, of course, nothing to do with showing off his own knowledge and experience. That wasn’t Tezuka’s style…

*

As another week passed, it was becoming Nanjirou's ultimate goal to throw Tezuka off balance. A smirk, a laugh, screaming and yelling... He just wanted an emotional reaction out of the stoic and proper captain.

Aside from that, every so often he had to curb the desire to treat Tezuka as an adult or peer—more so than any adult he knew but Tezuka was not an adult. He was fourteen... That was easy to forget.

So when Tezuka asked if he could go home with Nanjirou after practice and play a game, Nanjirou accidentally forgot that he probably shouldn’t interact with club members outside of club time. Well, with the exception of Ryouma, of course.

Consequently, he gave in to his curiosity, and agreed to play Tezuka in private. He did so want to know this boy’s limits and it might even be a good opportunity to find out a little more about the player as well as the game.

*

Tezuka truly admired Nanjirou-sensei. He found it endearing that such a supremely talented player was never full of himself or blown away by his own skill. Unlike those who couldn’t tell just how good Nanjirou was, Tezuka wasn’t fooled by the childish, immature pretense. 

And yet, he still found it difficult to remember that this man was not only old enough to be his father, but actually was the father of one of his teammates. This was a problem.

Tezuka was not prone to crushes. Nor was he in any way immoral.

Thus, when he found himself lusting after the temporary coach, Tezuka began to worry. He knew what he saw in Echizen, Nanjirou. What he didn’t know was why he couldn’t control and crush the offending hormones. He’d never had trouble with that previously.

As such, he failed to keep his mouth shut in time to avoid a potentially dangerous situation. He practically invited himself over to the Echizen household. Theoretically, it was to play tennis, but what Tezuka knew was really at the heart of his actions was the opportunity to get a little closer to Nanjirou-sensei. It was a silly notion and one that never should have come to light, but once Nanjirou agreed to play him, it was too late.

*

Ryouma was running a little late. Fuji had grabbed him in the locker room while everyone else was showering, dragging him into the bathroom and kissing him thoroughly. Not that Ryouma was complaining but he was nervous with his father around. If they were caught… Anyway, he was running late thanks to Fuji’s virility, so by the time he finally made it to the car, he was surprised to see Tezuka there with his father.

“Captain-chan is coming over for dinner tonight,” Nanjirou explained. Of course, he couldn’t omit the obligatory, “He asked for some dating tips and I just couldn’t refuse, so-”

Blushing—which was definitely something new—Tezuka cut Nanjirou off. “Nanjirou-sensei agreed to play a game with me. I hope you don’t mind.”

Ryouma shrugged. “Why should I mind? Anything that’ll get this perverted old man out of my hair for a little longer is fine with me.”

On the contrary, Ryouma actually felt a tug of excitement, though he refused to admit it. Though he was involved with Fuji, he was unable to pretend complete apathy when it came to his captain. In fact, his feelings for Tezuka went beyond what he felt for Fuji. That relationship was a matter of convenience considering that both he and the tensai had their eyes on the same, unattainable captain. 

That said, Ryouma knew that Tezuka coming to his house meant absolutely nothing, but at the very least… No. He didn’t mind.

*

After enjoying a very good homemade dinner—Tezuka’s mother was a terrible cook—the captain followed Nanjirou-sensei up to the tennis court set up in the temple. It was a very crude court and felt unnatural up in the place of serenity and spiritualism but it suited their purposes well enough.

All thoughts of attraction aside, Tezuka was thoroughly excited to have the chance to play someone like Nanjirou-sensei. It was an opportunity to test himself, closely observe a former top pro, and to further his game against an undoubtedly challenging opponent.

That was, if he could just concentrate for long enough.

The game started off well enough. Nanjirou was testing him—something Tezuka considered a compliment. He figured the former pro had no need to seek out the extent of most opponents’ skill. That he was doing so with Tezuka meant that he recognized the captain as a possible threat.

In turn, Tezuka kept his eyes wide open, focusing with one hundred and twenty percent on his opponent and waiting for traps or tricks to be sprung. It was only a matter of time before Nanjirou went on the attack.

Tezuka decided to go on the offensive first, subtly setting up Tezuka Zone in the hopes that Nanjirou would be caught in a trap of Tezuka’s before the ex pro was able to spring his own. Yet, Tezuka Zone was well established before he caught any hint of an offensive. In fact, the rally that was initiated became so rhythmic that Tezuka’s concentration drifted. He found his eyes leaving the ball and drifting to Nanjirou’s form, the way his body moved…

And that was when he noticed that Nanjirou had not moved a step, himself.

In his shock, Tezuka miss-hit the ball, sending it flying to Nanjirou with a prime opportunity which was duly accepted and slammed across the court, past Tezuka’s stunned face.

How could he have missed a point like that? Never before in his life had Tezuka screwed up because he was too busy checking out his opponent to concentrate on the game. Never before had he failed to notice something so obvious as that a variant of his own technique was being applied against him.

*

It was a rare thing to see uncertainty in Tezuka, Kunimitsu’s eyes and yet, there it was, plain as day. Nanjirou’s breath hitched. There was something innately tempting about that. 

“Something wrong? Te-zu-ka-chan?” he teased, trying to quiet the interested hum of his libido.

Tezuka stared at him for a second longer, then shook his head. He seemed to come out of a daze as he moved to the serving position.

Seemingly recovering, Tezuka hit a big first serve that would have been an Ace on any other player. Nanjirou caught it, even managing to return it decently enough. 

The ball went into play. 

Now that captain-chan knew his Tezuka Zone was sealed, there was only the Zero Shiki Drop Shot to look out for in the way of special shots. However, Tezuka was a formidable player under any circumstance. All of his shots were well played and well placed. 

They were drawn into a long rally. It was one of the most complicated, technical pieces of tennis Nanjirou had ever played. They both knew where the ball would go and how the opponent would return it. They both predicted the path of the ball right up until they ended up closing in to the net. 

Nanjirou caught Tezuka’s Zero Shiki. Tezuka returned Nanjirou’s drop volley. The rally continued with the most intense net play Nanjirou had ever experienced. The law of averages suggested that the ball had to be hit badly or spin out of control sooner or later.

What Nanjirou didn’t expect was for Tezuka to make a drastic unforced error.

The ball went sailing over Nanjirou’s head and way off the court. He followed its course, then turned back to Tezuka and raised his eyebrows.

The captain was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed and the shine of adrenaline in his eyes… accompanied by that peculiar uncertainty. 

“Sensei…”

Nanjirou intended to sound cheerful and playful, but instead his voice came out a little huskier than he’d planned. The way Tezuka called him that sent shivers down his spine.

The best he could hope for was a nonchalant. “Mhmm?” 

Tezuka stared at him for a moment, and then turned away. “Never mind.”

“Tezuka!” Nanjirou called, before he could stop himself. The boy stopped and turned back to him. Nanjirou was over the net in a second. “There’s no point in playing on. Your mind’s not in it.”

“I can play just fine.”

Nanjirou grabbed his arm, stopping him from turning away again. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that.”

Tezuka made a sound of irritation, stared him straight in the eyes, and said… nothing. 

Nanjirou knew why he did it, he just couldn’t believe he actually did. All he knew was that he couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried—which he didn’t.

Staring into Tezuka’s deep brown eyes, Nanjirou slowly leaned down to kiss the teenager. Tezuka wasn’t much shorter than him and he certainly didn’t have the pipsqueak body that Ryouma did. When their lips touched and Nanjirou’s hand slid around into that shaggy brown hair… it really felt like he was kissing a man.

To most intents and purposes, he was.

*

Tezuka was terrified. Of all the people he could fall for… Why did it have to be Nanjirou-sensei? Why Ryouma’s father? Why any man old enough to be a father? Why his current coach?

Logically, it made no sense but there was no logic in Tezuka’s awakening hormones and emotions. Logic went out the window when Nanjirou’s lips pressed gently against his and his heart instantly began to beat faster.

He almost felt the shift in atmosphere as Nanjirou began to pull away but Tezuka didn’t want that. At that moment, he refused to let Nanjirou go—because he might not ever have the courage to follow it up later. He told himself he could always stop this in its tracks but there may never come another chance to start it.

He slid his hands up Nanjirou’s arms and pulled the man closer, his lips parting. He was going by instinct, as he’d only ever experienced one kiss before—and that was just to prove to Fuji that he knew what a kiss was. Sneaky tensai. Of course, judging by Fuji’s reaction, he hadn’t done too badly. If he could make the tensai’s eyes cloud with lust, then maybe he could at least loosen up Nanjirou-sensei…

What the fuck was he thinking? Even as his tongue slid into the older man’s mouth, doubts began to creep in. He knew he had to stop it. He knew that; and yet, he was still encouraging further, tilting his head back and pressing his body against Nanjirou’s…

With a moan of want and regret, Tezuka finally pulled away. 

Nanjirou stared at him, slowly lifting one hand to wipe the wetness from his lips. They were both breathing hard, neither knowing what to say to the other.

All Tezuka wanted was to resume that kiss. Either that, or to relieve the sudden throbbing in his lower regions. Somehow, he’d gotten very hard in recent moments.

As it was, he simply continued to stare at Nanjirou-sensei, making no move either way. He knew what he should do, and, adversely, he knew what he wanted, but for some reason he could do neither.

Suddenly, Nanjirou smiled and reached out to touch Tezuka’s cheek, cupping it in his hand as the captain flinched involuntarily. 

“I’m sorry,” Nanjirou whispered. “That was irresponsible of me.”

Despite himself, Tezuka snorted. “You’ve hardly shown a very responsible nature. I’m the one who should have known better.”

Well, it was true. Screw their ages, Tezuka was by far the more mature.

Nanjirou laughed, and Tezuka actually found himself smiling but the tension didn’t dissipate much—mostly due to the erections they both sported that didn’t seem to be going away.

For once, the coach looked at him very seriously. “Despite what I want everyone to see—and what my son believes—I’m not half as perverted as I appear to be… and yet, I can’t stop thinking about you in ways that make it all true.”

Even as he flinched at the mention of Ryouma, Tezuka wanted so badly to just say he didn’t care. He almost didn’t, but a part of him was aware that it wasn’t his brain talking.

He was lost for words and every moment he stared into Nanjirou’s eyes with that warm hand on his cheek made things worse. Why wasn’t he moving away?

Damn it, what could he say to that, anyway?

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “What I want, I shouldn’t.”

“And what is it you want?” Nanjirou breathed, his lips seeming closer, and inexplicably sexier.

That question getting under his skin, Tezuka reacted in actions rather than words. He kissed Nanjirou again, closing the gap between their lips by leaning up just a little.

Later, he could hardly believe it, but at the time, he actually stopped arguing with himself, relaxing and enjoying the sensation. After all, if his strong will had been defeated by lust in tennis, then he had no chance left in the game of morality and rules.

He almost expected that second kiss to be the end of it, as incredible and addictive as it was, but somehow, he’d achieved what he most wanted. Somehow, in the course of the evening, and maybe even the past weeks, a bond had been formed between he and Nanjirou that wouldn’t allow either of them to walk away.

*

Right next door to his home, behind the platform of a temple bell, Nanjirou completely lost his mind. He began undressing a boy less than half his age.

Granted, Tezuka was less of a child than he was himself, but that didn’t change the fact that it was wrong. And yet, THAT didn’t stop him.

He kissed Tezuka hard, his fingers winding into shaggy dark hair, his knee slipping between strong, athletic thighs… And Tezuka kissed him back. Tezuka arched into his touch. Tezuka moaned so very softly into his mouth.

Nanjirou couldn’t have appealed to his conscience even if he wanted to. He was lost.

*

Tezuka had never before felt so human. Suddenly, he was the teenaged boy he was supposed to be. How ironic under the circumstances.

His arms slid around Nanjirou’s body, and he tilted his face aside as his glasses caught on the man’s nose. He was fully hard, and his heart was racing at a million miles an hour—far faster than it ever had done playing tennis. 

Nanjirou’s lips felt so at home against his and their tongues slid together perfectly. It was hard to believe there were a million reasons they shouldn’t be doing this. It was hard to believe anything at all except that he wanted Nanjirou very badly at that moment. He wanted Nanjirou in a way that he had never felt before. The way that Fuji wanted Tezuka to feel for him.

But this wasn’t about Fuji. This was about Tezuka waking up to the world about him and to his own feelings, his own wants and needs. 

This was about Tezuka drowning that studious, conscientious little voice inside of him that always got in the way. 

This was about lust, and like, and maybe even a little love.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Nanjirou whispered, brushing the hair back from Tezuka’s forehead as he broke the kiss. “We shouldn’t…”

“I know,” Tezuka agreed, staring into dark, worried eyes. “But let’s not stop.”

“Tezuka…”

“I know. Believe me, I know, but I don’t want to stop.” Straightening up, Tezuka hooked his arms around Nanjirou’s neck and ground his erection into the older man’s. “Not now,” he whispered. “I want you.”

*

Nanjirou groaned, perhaps belatedly, in reaction to the friction of Tezuka’s rock solid bulge pressing against his own, though he was almost willing to bet that the sound left his lips in pure appreciation of Tezuka’s words. The strong, silent Seigaku captain wanted him. Tezuka, of all people, wanted him—and he wanted Tezuka badly.

“Tezuka,” he breathed, calling upon every last ounce of self control he had carefully conserved through years of lack of restraint. “I’m not good at holding back. I want to take this too far so before I can do that, I suggest you walk away and we pretend this never happened…”

“How far is too far?” Tezuka asked, his voice sounding almost teasing, almost… seductive.

Nanjirou didn’t know how much more he could take. He had to make Tezuka understand. Growling, he pushed the teen up against the cold stone. “I want,” he began, his voice raw with both desire and restraint. “I want to undress you and take your undoubtedly virgin body, and make you scream in pleasure more than you’ve ever talked in your life.”

Just saying the words made Nanjirou hot all over, even in the cool night air and he couldn’t help grinding his hips against Tezuka’s as he spoke. The captain just stared him in the eyes, not struggling at all, and said:

“I want that, too.”

At a loss, Nanjirou stared stupidly for a moment. He’d tried. He really had tried, and here Tezuka was blatantly encouraging him… What more could he do? Just how much was expected of him?

Before he even tried to answer that question, a growl of tension slipped past his lips. The next thing he knew, he was kissing Tezuka aggressively, his fingers already working the shorts down. He knew it was wrong. He never forgot it for a second—well, maybe one or two—but he couldn’t stop his hands which were trembling with excitement; or his lips, swollen from kissing; or his tongue, drunk with the taste of Tezuka’s skin.

He fell to his knees, sucking on two fingers before taking Tezuka’s young but well-developed erection into his mouth. The boy’s moan spurred him on further and he rubbed his fingers against Tezuka’s entrance, delighted by the shiver he received in reaction.

*

Tezuka was one hundred percent speechless. Aside from the initial moan as Nanjirou swallowed his cock, he couldn’t make a sound. He trembled and focused on remembering to breathe as his suddenly hyper-sensitive body reacted to the slightest touch to his ring. 

Then, he felt one finger begin to enter him, and leaned heavily against the bell podium, burying a hand in Nanjirou’s hair. He expected it to hurt and it did, but it also felt… Well, it felt good. It was strange but in a good way. Maybe with someone else he would have struggled, and maybe it would have felt awkward or uncomfortable but with Nanjirou-sensei, he found himself wanting more.

He probably could have come as the second finger pressed inside, but he restrained himself, trembling and gasping. They’d come this far. He wanted to finish it.

Nanjirou sucked and licked his erection and trails of saliva dripped down over his balls, cooling on his hot skin in the night hair. He felt weak kneed and found himself clutching his coach’s head harder, in an effort to stay upright rather than anything else. The fingers inside of him felt no less strange than when they had entered but his enjoyment of the sensation grew with every shift and touch. Thankfully, Nanjirou wasn’t paying as vivid attention to his arousal as he had been to begin with. Rather, he suckled and nibbled at the head, keeping a constant sense of pleasure without overloading Tezuka and causing him to come too soon.

“Sensei,” he finally whispered, wanting to be closer still, wanting to feel more of Nanjirou on and inside him. 

*

The soft whisper sending a spark of pure lust directly to his groin, Nanjirou paused with his tongue circling the head of Tezuka’s cock. He slowly drew back, looking up at the teenager. He couldn’t make out Tezuka’s eyes due to the moon’s light reflected in the boy’s glasses but he could recognize the wanton expression and he thought he could just see a bright flush staining Tezuka’s cheeks.

Still staring up at that beautiful face, he tugged the boy’s shorts down a little further, grabbed and tilted Tezuka’s hips, and stretched his tongue out to flick over the sensitive, slightly stretched rosebud. He pushed his tongue inside, almost drooling as Tezuka moaned, throwing his head back against the stone wall.

Tezuka was most certainly ready. 

*

Tezuka was no longer thinking clearly. In fact, he was hardly thinking at all. He automatically tightened his grip as Nanjirou lifted him, pinning him against the wall and pulling Tezuka’s legs around his waist. 

His shorts were still wrapped around his legs and he had to bend his knees a little for the angle to work but he didn’t want to waste time in taking the damned clothing off. He just wanted Nanjirou inside of him before he somehow changed his mind.

Even so, a moment of terror came over him as he felt the older man’s cock at his entrance. After all, he was a virgin. He’d imagined that he would excel in tennis, marry a sweet girl, have a child, or two, and live a content life. Okay, so replace the girl with a guy, and the children maybe with dogs. That could be okay, too. But this… This was a far cry.

This was secret meetings, guilt, unrequited love, and probably some tears along the track—that, assuming there would ever be more than just this one… tryst. But Tezuka wanted more. He suddenly knew without a doubt that he wanted it to happen again and again. He wanted to learn more about Nanjirou. He wanted to know this man’s body and mind. 

As he opened his eyes, he belatedly realized that Nanjirou was, surprisingly patiently, waiting for him. He squeezed his legs even tighter, and bent his neck forward to kiss the man once in permission.

While their lips were connected, Nanjirou entered him, as gently as possible considering their position. It hurt—that was inevitable—but it wasn’t unbearable. Tezuka had felt worse, much worse—like when his arm was injured. This was nothing compared to that, and then, he didn’t have the bonus of sweaty skin rubbing against his erection and distracting him from the pain.

*

Nanjirou was going to burn for this. If the Christians were right and there was indeed a hell, this would be his sealing ticket. 

Frankly, he didn’t care.

Tezuka was the most gorgeous, exquisite, talented… enticing person Nanjirou had ever met. He loved his wife but nothing, nothing could stop him from giving in to this boy. The fact that Tezuka was moaning in pleasure certainly did nothing to discourage him.

As he slid into Tezuka’s body, he felt hot and cold at the same time. It was an incredible sensation.

Nanjirou had slept with a man or two in his time but despite his lecherous front, Rinko was the only woman he’d ever been with, the only woman he ever wanted to be with. As such, she was the only person he’d slept with in a very, very long time. Until now.

Being inside of Tezuka was like being caressed by a sponge cake volcano. He was hot, tight, and he felt incredible. His quiet moans almost drove Nanjirou into a frenzy. His expression, glasses askew, was enough to force Nanjirou to pause, lest he end it all too quickly.

And pause he did, pinning Tezuka flush against the stone, his whole body stiff as he fought against the sudden weakness in his knees. He could feel Tezuka’s breath on his skin and the boy’s soft hair caressed his cheek. Both of them were breathing hard, sweating and trembling despite the cool breeze. Nanjirou was buried as far as he could go in Tezuka’s adolescent ass.

“Sensei,” Tezuka whispered, the title sending a shiver of pleasure directly to Nanjirou’s cock. “No matter what happens, I will never regret this. Don’t stop.”

Nanjirou briefly considered a reply but even if he could manage to speak, he could think of nothing to say. Instead, he granted Tezuka’s wish, his fingers creeping up over the edge of the podium, giving him a handhold as he began thrusting into the boy, his hips driving Tezuka against the cold stone. The boy’s arms were tightly wound around his neck, both steadying and holding Tezuka up as he was pounded into ecstasy.

Nanjirou couldn’t resist a little nip. His teeth closed over Tezuka’s neck—not hard, just possessively, enough to stop him from crying out and alerting the neighborhood that he was fucking a teenager.

Soon, after the initial frenzy of sheathing himself inside such an incredible body, Nanjirou grew slightly more accustomed to the sensation and was able to slow down some. He began kissing Tezuka’s neck, sucking on the boy’s ear, and occasionally brushing gasping, slightly swollen lips with his own.

In reality, only a matter of minutes passed but it felt like a lifetime.

*

One arm draped over Nanjirou’s neck, the other braced against the wall, Tezuka’s breath hitched repeatedly at the zenith of the rhythm. The slapping rasping of their sweat-soaked bodies sounded loudly in his ears and Nanjirou’s breathing was almost hypnotic. The sensation of Nanjirou inside of him made him feel almost feverish and the brief slap of his cock against both of their skin drove him wild. 

He had no idea how he held on for as long as he did. It was almost as if ritual overrode the pleasure. He was so busy enjoying the process that the result nearly went by unnoticed—but that couldn’t last for long. His orgasm built up and released, taking him by surprise and causing him to cry out, arching and trembling as he came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To preserve the enjoyment of a simple Tezuka/Nanjirou smutfic, stop reading right now. Shit gets pretty real going forward, considering the issues we're dealing with. Then it takes a U-turn towards totally surreal so that I can finally finish this crazy fic that I should have just stopped right here before further complications were necessary.


	2. Chapter 2

That morning, when he’d woken, a stab of guilt had accompanied the memory of Tezuka’s evening with Nanjirou-sensei. A stab of guilt—and one of lust. He couldn’t help the way his body reacted to the remembered touches, words, and feelings.

He found it difficult to look his mother in the eyes at breakfast, and when he slipped past her on his way out of the kitchen, he made sure not to touch her. It felt like just one touch, just one look and she would instantly be aware of everything that had happened the night before. She would know that her son—her one and only, precious son—who was supposed to be straight as an arrow and unfailingly responsible... had slept with an older man.

As he walked, Tezuka felt an itch and twisted to relieve it, then let a wince slip as he was reminded of the grazes that had been bothering him on and off all day. It was a stupid idea to let Nanjirou-sensei fuck him in the first place, let alone shirtless against a damned stone wall. 

He sighed. It was his fault, after all, and besides, he was the one who kept carelessly forgetting about the scratches. It was his responsibility to stay alert.

And just at that moment, he walked straight into somebody turning the same corner. Irritated at this mistake just as he resolved to stay alert, Tezuka made to lash out at the victim/offender, but his tongue froze before any sound left his mouth.

It was Nanjirou—briefly looking as shell-shocked as Tezuka felt.

"Oi, Captain-chan," he said, recovering faster.

"Nanjirou-sensei," Tezuka acknowledged, ducking his head politely and desperately hoping his cheeks weren't as red as they felt warm.

He made to brush past but Nanjirou grabbed his wrist. "Are you okay?" Tezuka's eyes landed first on Nanjirou's fingers around his wrist, then lifted to the man's face. His heart beat just a little faster. "That muscle injury, I mean," Nanjirou elaborated, lying. It was clear what he meant, and Tezuka nodded in reply. "Good. Well... When it heals, if you want to play again..."

"I’ll… keep that in mind,” Tezuka said stupidly, gently tugging his wrist free before bowing politely and making a break for it lest his face turn scarlet. He should have said no! He should have made excuses! He knew, probably as well as Nanjirou did, that his non-committal reply was as good as an affirmative.

*

Nanjirou desperately wanted to know what was wrong with him. He was a devoted husband and father, so why was he encouraging a relationship with Tezuka? If it could even be called that. They'd slept together once. That hardly constituted a relationship, though maybe an affair. Still, the word 'relationship' kept popping up in his mind, and he had to admit that the moment he offered Tezuka the chance to return for more, it went beyond a one night stand. 

But Nanjirou didn't know what it was he felt for Tezuka. Certainly, he did have feelings for the captain but there was just no way to pin down the specifics. It wasn't like he loved Tezuka. Well... Not the way he loved his wife, nor the way he loved Ryouma. No; if he did love Tezuka, it was a kind of love he'd never experienced before. 

He really needed to talk to Tezuka in private. Coded questions in the hallway just didn't cut it. Nanjirou was worried for him. The boy had practically retreated from him, which was wholly out of character. Maybe Tezuka didn't want anything more to do with him after all, and maybe that would be for the better, but Nanjirou couldn't help but think he must be suffering, so he decided on a plan of action. He'd send Ryouma home without him on an errand and then corner Tezuka in the locker room once everyone was gone. 

*

“Captain-chan.”

Nanjirou’s greeting had been quiet but Tezuka visibly jumped, his attention diverted from the search for his keys.

“Looking for these?” Nanjirou asked, holding up the keys to the club room and equipment shed.

Tezuka’s eyes darted to the keys and then back to Nanjirou’s face. He nodded, and reached for them. “Yes.”

Nanjirou jerked them out of the way. He tutted. “Shouldn’t leave such important items just lying around…”

“They weren’t,” Tezuka replied a little coldly, averting his eyes. He slammed his locker shut, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. “They were in my locker. Which was locked.”

“Or was it?” Nanjirou whistled absently, his eyes on the young captain. He hadn’t thought to make Tezuka laugh but the cold reception was far from his expectations. He caught the keys in his hand, his expression turning serious. “Tezuka-”

“Sensei, I made a mistake this morning. Perhaps I should have made myself more clear. What happened last night-”

“Was a very grave mistake that should never be repeated,” Nanjirou murmured, slowly closing the distance between them. 

“Precisely, so-”

“Tezuka.”

The captain cut off at Nanjirou’s quiet invocation of his name. When he met Nanjirou’s gaze, his eyes seemed slightly brighter than they ought.

“Sensei, I can’t cope,” Tezuka admitted quietly.

“It’s only been one day,” Nanjirou replied with a false laugh.

“I can’t look my friends, my teachers, or my mother in the eye. If I’m so afraid of being found out after only one transgression, how do you think-”

“I don’t. I don't think,” Nanjirou replied hastily. “I mean, I’m not… assuming anything.” He waited for Tezuka to contradict him but the boy stayed quiet, staring evenly into Nanjirou’s eyes and patiently waiting. “If it’s not absolutely what you want-” Tezuka almost chimed in but Nanjirou anticipated him and cut him off. “If you think you can’t handle it, then I’ll let you get on with your simple life of tennis and training—unless, of course, you need to talk with me about it, or-”

“Sensei…”

Tezuka’s whisper, augmented by some unidentifiable emotion, stopped Nanjirou’s ramble in its tracks.

“I can try harder to cope,” Tezuka announced as his arms wound about Nanjirou’s neck and his lips rose to the older man’s.

Nanjirou’s only regret was that he forgot to lock the door in advance. Next time, he wouldn’t be so careless.

*

Ryuzaki sensei had been back for two weeks, and in just two weeks, Tezuka and Nanjirou had been together an alarming number of times. They had agreed to be subtle and calm about it all, and yet almost every day they somehow met in debatable privacy. The danger of the situation was fraying Tezuka's nerves and yet he didn't stop. He couldn't. He felt lonely almost all the time without Nanjirou, and when he saw Ryouma and Fuji together, whether they were displaying their relationship or not, he missed Nanjirou terribly.

It grew easier to deal with his secret. Knowing that he had his lover’s support and learning that people couldn’t just read his mind at every turn, he relaxed somewhat, managing to maintain a satisfactory level of comfort around his team and his family—at least, as comfortable as he’d ever been. 

More than ever, he carried the burden of captaincy on his shoulders. He felt slightly older and wiser and it cemented his confidence in himself as a leader. Furthermore, he was able to consult Nanjirou on matters of concern, and the ex pro never failed to give him a worthwhile answer—once he was able to dig it out from beneath a landslide of teasing and bad humor.

There was only one exception.

Echizen had just left the locker room, his fingers briefly finding Fuji's hand on the way past, and Tezuka had had to absorb himself in re-packing his tennis gear to cover the frustration he felt. After several seconds in his own little world, he felt Fuji's stare burning into him.

He looked up questioningly, but Fuji said nothing and simply tended to his own gear. Tezuka frowned and continued what he was doing. 

Several seconds later, he heard Fuji stop and turn once more. He swiveled as well, to find the tensai staring at him.

“Tezuka, what are you hiding?” Fuji asked, his eyes open and dangerously narrowed to cold blue slits.

Sighing wearily, the captain avoided that sharp gaze, casually checking the tape on his racket, instead. 

“I’m not hiding anything,” he answered, perhaps a little too lightly.

“There’s something you’re not telling me. Tezuka… you’re sleeping with someone, aren’t you?” Fuji accused, the bullseye almost uncanny.

Tezuka’s hand paused, and then continued moving as if his brain hadn’t just blue-screened. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he answered flatly.

“Tezuka,” Fuji almost hissed, grabbing the captain’s forearm. “Who is it?”

Irritated, Tezuka figured Fuji wasn’t going to let it go, so he had to make the tensai back off. He looked right into Fuji’s eyes.

“It’s none of your business, Fuji,” he said coldly, his glare challenging.

“So you are sleeping with someone,” Fuji deduced, and Tezuka felt a little guilty when he heard a touch of hurt in the tone.

“Yes,” he answered quietly, sorry that he’d reacted so defensively.

“Who?” Fuji asked, his whole face softening, his eyes seeming so sad all of a sudden. 

Tezuka was shocked. The way Fuji sounded, the way he was looking at Tezuka, it was as if he’d just had his heart broken. No way was Fuji harboring those kinds of feelings for him, especially when he was seriously dating Echizen… the younger. 

“I can’t tell you, Fuji,” he muttered belatedly, looking away as he replaced his racket in its bag and lifted it onto his shoulder. 

“Tezuka…” Fuji began softly, “You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question at all.

“Trust has nothing to do with it. I can’t tell you. Don’t ask again,” Tezuka said without turning around, then exited the room.

If he’d looked back, he would have seen anger blazing in the tensai’s eyes rather than the regret he expected.

*

Later that night, he met Nanjirou near the street courts and they walked together to a nearby café. It was Nanjirou’s idea. He’d said he wanted to go somewhere with Tezuka where they could sit and chat and associate with each other outside of tennis and sex. 

Tezuka didn’t disagree, but he wasn’t so certain it was a good idea.

“What if someone recognizes us?” he’d challenged.

“What if they do?” Nanjirou replied, carelessly. “I could hardly deny your request for advice from a former coach, could I?” 

His eyes had twinkled so mischievously that Tezuka couldn’t help but accede to the point with a little nod that hid his smile. Better that they met at a place logical for them both to be rather than somewhere private and out of the way that would seem suspicious if caught out.

Still, he was nervous. Tezuka was a teenager. What he did now might be forgotten and forgiven in a couple of years. He was always able to claim ignorance but Nanjirou had a life. He had a wife that he loved and a son whom he adored—(who was also Tezuka’s friend, teammate, and peer). The situation was extremely complicated, and Tezuka didn’t even know where he stood.

He’d thought about bringing it up but he couldn’t bring himself to ask the vital questions: Do you love me? Do you love your wife more? Are you ashamed to look Ryouma in the eyes? Because I am…

Instead, he wisely held his tongue—or offered it when Nanjirou’s lips reached for his. 

Every moment they were together, the knowledge that they should and could stop was a part of his general awareness. They never did. Tezuka never managed to exercise that kind of self control, and if he couldn’t, then one could hardly expect Nanjirou of all people to lead the way…

So they went to the café, sitting across from each other, nothing but their ankles touching—nothing but waves of tension rising whenever their eyes met. It was obvious that the people around them had no clue. They could be family, friends, or even professional peers. Neither offered any outward sign of their relationship, and neither expected it.

Later, when they slipped into a discreet little hotel not far away, the kiss they immediately shared was so intense that Tezuka felt he could explode right there. He was so hard he’d barely survived the walk up the stairs and his emotions were off the scale thanks to the restraint of sitting so near Nanjirou and not even being able to interact honestly.

Oh, it had been a lovely date, if a little strained, but Tezuka couldn’t help wanting more, even knowing that he would never get it. So he unleashed it all through sexual frustration, allowing Nanjirou to briefly bite and mark his skin where it would be easy to hide. He barely noticed as he was jostled, his spine grinding into the door even as Nanjirou’s erection ground into his. There was only one thought dominating his consciousness: They had to get rid of their clothes, now.

*

Fuji felt cold creep all over his body as if he'd just stepped out of an oven into the snow.

If someone had related to him what he'd just seen, he'd have ignored them no matter how reliable the source. In fact, it was so ridiculous to believe, that he was still staring at the hotel entrance as if he could somehow get a better look at a non-existing after-imagine to prove that he was mistaken. 

But he wasn't mistaken. He knew Nanjirou's careless fake monk look, and Tezuka he would recognize anywhere, any time. As unbelievable as it was, the two he'd just seen sneaking into a hotel known to be good for the purpose of cheap, secretive sex, were his captain and his boyfriend's father/his former coach.

"Huh? You wanna go in there? But we can just have sex at your place."

The shock wore off as human warmth seemed to return to Fuji's body. Slightly dazedly, he looked down at Ryouma by his side. A moment later, his brain caught up with the spoken words. "Aa, that's true," he said, even as he wondered why he didn't mention what he'd just seen.

That was something normal people did—blurting out observations before thinking about who they might affect and how. Fuji wasn't a normal person. For now, he would forget and go on as usual. Later, when he was alone with his thoughts, he would think about what he saw and come to a decision.

"Is something wrong?" Ryouma asked, ever so innocently. "Is your brother home or something?"

Fuji shook his head, shaking off his thoughts along with the action. "I was just wondering when we're going to play each other again."

"What are you talking about? We just played, didn't we?"

"I'm mean seriously. A real game."

"Haven't we already talked about that? When I beat you, it's not going to be good for our relationship. It's bad enough as it is, both of us liking someone else."

"I wouldn't say it's bad. In fact..."

And so they continued on, Fuji distracted from his thoughts and Ryouma from his boyfriend's odd behavior.


	3. Chapter 3

As Nanjirou tossed his head back in ecstacy, water poured into his mouth and over his face. He had Tezuka pressed up against the tiled wall of the shower, their fingers entwined as they both solidly braced their legs on the slippery surface. Meanwhile, Nanjirou was in heaven, slowly driving in and out of Tezuka's body. His young lover's moans vibrated in his ears and through his body, and in return, he groaned, ignoring the trickles as water dripped down his nose and over his upper lip. 

He bent further over Tezuka's perfectly sleek yet muscled back. He was in incredible shape himself, or so he believed, but Tezuka was just a work of art. Nanjirou just couldn't resist running his hands down that perfect skin wet from both sweat and the shower's spray. He could feel those beautiful muscles shift under his touch as Tezuka's body constantly contracted and expanded in the midst of their pleasure.

*

Droplets of mingled sweat and water dripped down Tezuka's face from his soaked hair. His eyes were blurrily focused on the white tiles before him. Without his glasses, he couldn't make out anything, but that was fine. He wasn't exactly interested in the tiles, anyway—not with the sensations flooding his body.

Yet even as bliss spread through him, Tezuka's mind was partially pre-occupied. Or, rather, his original heavy thoughts were being interrupted by the incredible feelings Nanjirou was stirring in him, but Tezuka was persistent; he forced himself to focus on his thoughts because he didn't have much time. He had to come to a decision now. In fact, he had no choice but to come to a particular decision. It was just a matter of accepting that.

Their so called date, while pleasant enough, and followed by such wonderful, incredible sex... had proven to Tezuka that what he wanted from Nanjirou was something he could never have. If they kept seeing each other, Tezuka would only become miserable as the feeling of wanting more grew like a cancer. Worse, Nanjirou's family could potentially be destroyed altogether and while one tiny, selfish part of Tezuka disgustingly desired that, he knew he would never forgive himself—or Nanjirou—for doing that to Echizen, or to any wife and son, for that matter. It was wrong. It was so, so wrong. While the knowledge of that hadn't been sufficient enough to stop Tezuka yet, the confirmation that he could never be happy like this had finally given him the willpower he needed to stop.

This was the end.

After tonight, he would never see Nanjirou again. Not like this.

But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy their last time together.

His resolution confirmed, Tezuka grit his nails into the breaks in the tiles for purchase as he straightened up and then turned to kiss Nanjirou, the older man's erection slipping out of him. Reaching behind his lover, he pushed the shower door open and herded Nanjirou out of the bathroom, pushing him down onto the bed, wet as they were. He climbed over his lover and lowered himself over the man's rigid cock. He groaned loudly as it filled him once more and he began to ride, his hands firmly braced on Nanjirou's chest, his thighs pumping with athletic strength as he reached for their mutual gratification.

*  
“Sumire-chan, can I talk to you?”

The old woman peered at him with concern from the desk near a window overlooking the courts where she had been marking papers as she watched over some of the team’s unofficial post-practice activity. Fuji supposed the question was a little out of the ordinary for him, which would explain the frown she wore. 

He was off-balance. Every instinct in him screamed conflicting ideas at him. Moral injustice insisted he alert the police immediately while concern for his friend suggested he discuss the situation with Tezuka privately. Another, darker part of him wanted to flaunt what he knew to Ryouma and observe the reaction while an angry part he was usually detached from wanted to hit Nanjirou and yell and scream.

Rarely had Fuji felt the need to consult with another about the right course of action; never had he needed that other to be an adult. Ryuzaki-sensei was the closest thing he had to an adult he respected and trusted—especially now. Perhaps talking to her about this would be a mistake but it seemed the least likely way to implode the situation while bearing a high chance of helping him decide on where to go from here.

“Fuji? What’s on your mind?”

Clearly, she had already noted his pre-occupation. He may as well just go ahead with the plan, such as it was.

“I need some advice.”

“Something to do with tennis?”

“No, it’s more serious than that,” Fuji said darkly.

He walked past the old… mature woman and drifted to the window, as if drawn by the light in which he needed to remain anchored to say what he had to say. How much he should reveal was a decision he had only just come to—mostly because the truth was so difficult to put into words.

“Someone… a young tennis player… has gotten involved with an adult and I’m not sure how to handle it,” he said quietly.

“Involved? You mean, in a rivalry?” He heard her chair scrape as she came to stand behind him, close enough to clearly hear his quiet words.

Bless her heart. “I mean, in an adulterous, age-inappropriate relationship… with… a mentor, of sorts.”

There was a long pause. When the coach finally spoke, her tone was dark and stern. “A teacher?”

“A coach,” Fuji breathed, hoping he wasn’t giving away too much. “Sensei, you’ll want to know who and with whom but that’s not what I came here for. I want to help my friend, quietly, without the situation causing problems for their future. Please, just give me some advice.”

“What kind of advice were you looking for?” she asked, in that characteristic, dry tone that said he knew the answer well enough.

“If I go to the authorities, the coach’s life will be destroyed. I don’t care about him but… it would affect people I do care about. It would hurt them, deeply. I can’t do that. The only way I can convince my friend to end this before it hurts him and anyone else is to talk with him directly, but he’ll misunderstand, for sure. He’ll think I’m jealous. How can I prove to him that I…”

Horrified, Fuji realized too late why he had really come here. He claimed he wanted to help Tezuka without hurting him, or Ryouma, but if that was the case, he would have followed the advice he had just spoken out loud. Instead, he had come to this woman who knew him, and knew those involved—all of those involved—well enough to put two and two together the moment he spoke certain key words.

Was he truly so petty? So vindictive?

It didn’t matter anymore.

Slowly, he turned, his disarming smile frozen into what came to feel like a grimace in its rigidity as he noted the shock and fury playing over his coach’s features. Her fists curled and unwound several times and she drew breath and blew it out wordlessly, twice, before she spoke the names out loud.

“Tezuka. And Nanjirou.”

She really was sharp. He had to hand her that.

“I did this. I thought Nanjirou would be a good mentor for Tezuka, that he would help Tezuka to take the next step; to free his tightly-bound skill; to… I drove him right into the jaws of the shark.”

Fuji was already well on the way to destroying two lives he cared for and some he did not, but now he added Ryuzaki-sensei to the former list. Pale and breathless, the woman toppled until she caught a desk under her hand and then sat down upon it, taking slow, deep breaths and closing her eyes.

“How could he do this?” she moaned. “How could he have an affair with a child?”

The knowledge that this outrage was what he had wanted weighed heavily on Fuji as he rushed to the coach’s side and slipped his arm around her waist to hold her up. She looked like she might have a heart attack.

Fuji thought he might join her a moment later when the door slammed open to reveal a furious Ryouma, all-but spitting and hissing like an angry cat.

“Whatever game this is, you just went too far,” he spat. “My dad… He’s a perv but he’s not a pedophile, and he’s not into boys and even if he was, he’s happily married, and Tezuka would never, ever do something like that. Never! Don’t you dare say that! How dare you let her believe that-”

“Ryouma!”

The moan that escaped Fuji revealed to him how much he had come to care for this stand-in boyfriend and how much he regretted what would happen in his life after this revelation. He didn’t want to see Ryouma hurt, but then, he hadn’t created this situation, either. 

“Ryouma.” 

The deep voice that repeated after Fuji startled them both—Fuji having been unaware of Tezuka’s presence in his despair at his boyfriend having overheard this sensitive conversation, and Ryouma seemingly having forgotten that he had not come here alone. In fact, there were other voices in the hall—a dramatic gasp and a confused, questioning, “Tezuka?” that unmistakably belonged to the golden pair.

Fuji really had timed this well. Max destruction with minimum effort.

“Oishi, get some water,” Tezuka ordered stiffly. “Ryuzaki-sensei is struggling.”

It was one of those rare occasions when Fuji had neither the impetus, nor the heart, to maintain his mask, and he let it slip; the corners of his lips sliding down into an unaccustomed frown, his eyes opened wide for once but without the sharp predatory gleam that usually came with such a view. He turned the sad look into a challenge for Tezuka and an apology for Ryouma, then trained it upon Ryuzaki-sensei with an uncommon sense of remorse.

“Sumire-chan, I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to guess. Are you in pain? Is it your heart?”

Ryouma stood in the doorway while Tezuka faced the challenge head on, striding over to tend to the teacher with gentle hands and soothing words. He left Fuji feeling ashamed for his helplessness and his role in this turn of health. He floated toward his boyfriend, only to find that he should probably stop using that term because Ryouma clearly wanted nothing to do with him. The boy was still viciously angry but his silent, smoldering gaze was mostly on Tezuka. Perhaps he believed more than he liked to acknowledge.

*

Admitted to hospital, Ryuzaki-sensei had remained isolated and had not yet taken action on the unsubstantiated accusation, however well she believed it. Ryouma refused to speak to Fuji but he wouldn’t so much as look at Tezuka, either, and when he returned home, he shut himself in his room and avoided his family.

For his part, Tezuka was sick with dread and anticipation. The secret was out. It was only a matter of time before it swallowed him whole. His coach knew. His friend’s knew. His lover’s… ex-lover’s… son knew. Had Ryouma told his mother yet? Had Kikumaru told the whole school? Would Oishi outdo himself in his concern and inform the police?

Two tense days passed. Most of the regulars skipped practice. Kikumaru and Oishi did not, but they seemed to be biding their time and biting their tongues for now.

Tezuka, for the first time since he had begun middle school, picked up his bag, collected his shoes, and fast-walked to the school gate and beyond, shutting himself in his room and studying German to muffle the damning Japanese words that rattled around in his brain. He didn’t expect to be disturbed from that punishing solitude, but he should have.

There was one boy who had never seen fit to leave him alone; one boy who always pushed that extra inch; one boy who just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“Get out,” he said coldly; unaffected by his mother’s surprised gasp, from where she stood behind Fuji in his bedroom doorway.

“Kunimitsu.”

“Get. Out,” he growled, slamming his book shut.

“Tezuka, I really think we should-”

“Get out!” he snapped, hurling the book to slam heavily into the door frame and cause Fuji to recoil even as his mother screamed in fright, jumped, and almost tripped, grasping at the wall for support.

“Kunimitsu, pick that up this instant!” she ordered—her voice tainted more by shock and fear than anger or authority.

Tezuka obeyed, none-the-less. He mumbled an apology to her, and her alone, and then turned his back on Fuji as he placed the book into its determined spot on his shelf.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to bed,” he said.

“You will not,” his mother contradicted. “Whatever has passed between you two, there is no room for such rudeness in this house. Fuji has always been a good friend to you, and such a sweet boy. You will speak to him, if nothing else. Yell and scream if you like; I’ll go to the store. But you will speak.”

A chill ran through Tezuka as he realized that his mother had never once spoken to him like that; like a parent disappointed in her child. He, too, had never spoken to her as he had just now. Had being with Nanjirou changed him? Made him cocky? Or was it the stress of waiting for the hammer to drop?

For a moment, his mother’s disappointment prodded him toward tears but he choked them down. There was nothing for it. He would let Fuji say whatever he came to say. Then, he would have the tensai leave and make it clear that he wasn’t welcome in this house anymore.

True to her word, Tezuka’s mother gathered her purse and a shopping list and left, leaving Tezuka and Fuji alone as her husband was on a business trip. Uncomfortable with having Fuji in his room right now—his own private space—Tezuka led his teammate through to his father’s study, speaking only the bare minimum of words and smothering out any small talk Fuji would have made.

As such, the tensai didn’t wait long to get to the point. He stood in the middle of the dark room until Tezuka located the lamp switch and then he spoke.

“I’m worried about you.”

It occurred to Tezuka that despite her disappointment, his mother was rather naively trusting of him, leaving him alone with Fuji like this when all he wanted to do was find out how neatly his hands would fit about that skinny little throat.

“I made a mistake… It wasn’t unintentional but it was a mistake. I’m aware of that.”

The silence didn’t stretch for long.

“I didn’t know what else to do. What you were doing… with that man… The Tezuka I know would never do that. Ryouma said it, too. We all know who you really are, that you wouldn’t-”

“Don’t,” Tezuka choked. He felt sick as Fuji’s implication seeped into him like a creeping poison. His friends weren’t angry or disgusted; they pitied him. They thought he’d been abused. Fuji knew better but he’d let them think that. Now, Tezuka’s prolonged silence was a matter of necessity as he tried to make his throat work again but Fuji waited, oddly skittish like a rabbit waiting to be spooked.

Tezuka didn’t doubt that he regretted how things had happened, or that he truly was worried, but he knew better than to believe Fuji had acted out of anyone’s interests but his own.

“I already ended it,” Tezuka admit gruffly. He didn’t need to explain himself to Fuji but he wanted the tensai to know how pointless all of the pain and chaos he had caused really was. “I loved him. He wasn’t molesting me or taking advantage of me… He knew me, better than any of you ever will. He saw me for who I am and I loved him. I knew he was married. I know his son, who’s almost the same age as me. I loved him anyway. But I knew he would never choose me over them so I ended it.”

As he spoke, his flat, emotionless voice sounded odd, even in his own ears. He watched Fuji swallow; saw the realization he’d been hoping to impart take root, and he recognized the moment the tensai justified his actions in his own mind with whatever selfish excuse came to hand.

“Whatever happens to me now; whatever Ryuzaki-sensei decides to do; however our lives are ruined, I don’t regret loving him,” Tezuka said quietly. “But I will never forgive you.”

“Me!? I didn’t sleep with a married man, Tezuka! An adult! A father! What he did was disgusting but what you did was wrong, too! You should worry about forgiving yourself before you concern yourself with forgiving me!” Fuij blurted out. Spots of red blossomed in his cheeks but his burst of anger was contrasted by tears shining in his eyes as he no-doubt saw a vision of their friendship crumbling into ash. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, as those big, fat tears began to fall. “I didn’t mean it, any of it! Tezuka, I-”

The footsteps had gone unnoticed as the tension in the study consumed them both but the loud creak and gush of air as the door was wrenched open could hardly be missed. Tezuka felt his heart drop into his stomach and almost swayed with horror as he realized his mother had heard every word.

When had he subconsciously noted the opening and closing of the front door? Before, or after he had confessed to everything? …Before.

She was crying, her arms wrapped around herself, and she barely registered Fuij’s presence as she unwittingly parroted Tezuka’s words of earlier. “Get out!” she screamed, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch as it broke through the choking tears. "I thought you were a good child! I thought I could be proud! ...Get out! Get OUT! I don't want you in my house, you sinful... deceitful wretch!"

She took a step back to clear the doorway. Ice, fire, and everything in between ravished Tezuka in waves during the space of that step, and then he was running; charging headlong through the hall, past the umbrella his mother had returned for, and out into the warm, pouring rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For years, I have glanced over my notes for this fic, read back over and edited it, and not written anything more than more notes.  
> All of a sudden, with renewed feedback and encouragement to continue, I've turned out a chapter and a half!
> 
> This is a difficult story dealing with dark, real-world issues but trying to explain and justify them because the characters involved are the "heroes". I don't want it to be mistaken for anything other than the explorative fiction it is.  
> The situation is about to get rather surreal... ^_^; All according to plan.


	4. Chapter 4

There wasn’t much thought in Tezuka’s head as he ran through the heavy curtain of rain. There was none of the usual consideration for stamina, no thought for potentially tearing a muscle not properly warmed up—he just ran.

All of the deceptive calm of the last two days was now dissolving to show a bleak truth he had always known was lurking, but he hadn’t suspected the pain of his mother’s denial or the bitter sense of betrayal that Fuji would stop at nothing to destroy his chances at regaining peace.

So he ran—not toward anything but rather, away from those who had hurt him.

Except that he was running toward something. He just didn’t notice it until he slowed to a stop. He didn’t acknowledge it at first, instead folding at the waist and leaning on his knees as he took heaving breaths and tried not to breathe in the water streaming down his face. In a moment of distraction from his greater dilemma, he removed his glasses in irritation, blinded more by the rivulets washing over the lenses than by his imperfect eyesight. He stuffed them into his pocket with little care for their maintenance.

When the white-wash of oxygen-deprivation and fatigue faded, he looked up once more at the gates of a residence he was familiar with but had never entered. As he considered what had brought him here, tears threatened to suffocate him if he didn’t let them free—and then he was crying, blinded and immobilized by a flood of emotion. 

When the worst of it passed, the rain had also subsided to a drizzle. Exhaustion inundated Tezuka and he swayed, catching at the wooden frame of the gate and staring blearily down the path.

He knew he should turn around and walk away. He didn’t know where he should go, or if such a place even existed for him right now, but he knew this wasn’t it. Even so, it was the only place he could think of where he might find some comfort or even resolution, if not welcome. 

He took a step inside the grounds.

*  
“Whoohoo! Nya, nya, nya, nya, nya~!” teased Kikumaru as he won yet another round of Dai Fugo. 

The card game was common in Japan but Ryouma had grown up playing Western games like Speed or Uno. Kikumaru and Oishi had years of experience on him and the acrobat had a wily sense of strategy that put even Oishi’s careful planning to shame. The nature of the game favored those who could adapt their tactics and outfox their opponents. This was Kikumaru’s seventh win of nine games. Ryouma’s tally remained at zero.

“Haha! Deal ‘em out, Oishi!” Kikumaru ordered as the vice captain shuffled the mess of cards with a glint of determination in his eye.

“No thanks,” Ryouma retorted with a pout. “This is boring.”

“Only because you’re loooooosing!” crooned Kikumaru.

Ryouma responded with a glare but he didn’t miss Oishi’s alarmed expression and subsequent signal to his partner that clearly spoke, “What are you doing? We’re supposed to be cheering him up, not making him feel bad!” 

Even though the reprimand was silent, it spoke loud and clear to Kikumaru whose expression fell immediately to a look of remorse. He glanced at Ryouma, whose glare lost its voracity, and then flopped into a twist that stretched him right up to the book shelf at the bottom of which was a stack of board games.

“We could play Pictionary,” he suggested cheerfully, trying to tug the relevant box out from a position near the bottom of the pile. “Fuji always beats me at that!”

Kikumaru froze, still outstretched like a seal diving off an ice-berg, and Oishi immediately looked to Ryouma to assess his reaction. The mood quickly sunk into a quagmire of awkward silence.

“It’s ok,” Ryouma said eventually. “You can say his name.”

Coming up with the box in his hands, Kikumaru’s triumph at the one-tug extraction was lost in his regret at having let Fuji’s name slip. He lowered it slowly to the ground before him and leaned on it as he spoke. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to think about him right now. If I broke up with Oishi, I wouldn’t want to see/hear about/or speak to him for at least a month!”

How that was supposed to cheer him up, Ryouma wasn’t sure, but it caused a panicked look to sweep over Oishi’s features—for several reasons, he was sure. 

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “We’re on the same team so I’ll have to see him at some point.”

“That’s my O’chibi! So mature for his age!” cried Kikumaru, leaping on Ryouma with a big hug. “You know you can talk to me or Oishi, or Momo—or anyone—if you need to, right? It’s ok to feel sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Ryouma insisted.

It was true. He wasn’t. He was angry—at Fuji, and at Tezuka; and his dad.

Oishi was sharp enough and smart enough to see what Kikumaru didn’t. “I’d be mad at him, too, Ryouma—but not just him. There’s someone else you’re angry at, I’m sure; someone who hurt you much more than Fuji. You know, he was only trying to help.”

Ryouma wasn’t so sure about that, at all, but he shrugged, deciding to address the elephant in the room. “I don’t really care what my dad does. He’s always been a pervert. I don’t know why my mum married him, but she knows what he is. If that works out for them, it’s none of my business… but this is.”

Kikumaru spoke in a quiet, kind voice as if to counteract the hard fact. “Cause he cheated on her?”

“I think,” said Oishi hesitantly, “He’s referring to the nature of the affair.”

“You mean, with a teenaged boy?”

“I mean, with Tezuka-buchou,” Ryouma cut in quietly, irritated enough with the way they seem inclined to discuss the situation as if he wasn’t sitting right there, to speak the truth. “He cheated on my mum… with the guy I like.”

That was the heart of the matter. His break-up with Fuji was incidental. His feelings toward his father were full of anger and frustration but he was resigned to that. The one who really cut him to the quick, was the captain he no longer knew how to respect.

Kikumaru practically pounced. “Wait, wait, wait, wait. Tezuka!? But-”

“I liked Fuji-senpai enough to mess around a bit but we were just dating out of convenience,” Ryouma mumbled. He resented the need to spell it out. “We didn’t even consider fighting over buchou because we thought it was a futile battle.”

“You thought Tezuka was above romance,” Oishi clarified.

“-Or hormones! Nya, I know, right? I thought so, too!”

“Eiji…” Oishi spared a disparaging look for his boyfriend before centering his focus on Ryouma. “Tezuka has a lot of weight on his shoulders. It’s a heavy burden to be a captain. Maybe he hasn’t had the kind of time and flexibility the rest of us have to consider such frivolous pursuits, but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to desire—for love, or for physicality. Sometimes it’s too easy to forget that he’s just another boy, like we are.”

Ryouma avoided his gaze. He wasn’t sure if the words made him feel guilty, or stupid… or skeptical, but discomfort came with all three. “It was ok,” he said, avoiding the issue. “I didn’t mind being with Fuji. We both felt the same way about buchou so it was easy to be together but… It’s not just that he chose someone else, other than me or Fuji, but… Did it have to be…”

“Your dad.”

Oishi sighed. Detachedly, Ryouma felt a pang of sympathy for he and Kikumaru. How could one hope to console a friend in this situation? It was impossible.

However, Oishi took a different route in the end. Instead of futilely trying to console Ryouma, he tried to lessen the pain with reason. “I’m sorry. This must be incredibly difficult for you to understand or accept. There’s no justification for it either for Tezuka or Nanjirou-sensei. But, Ryouma, knowing them both, I think there had to be something to it. Your dad might be a little… strange… but I don’t think he would cross this line lightly. I know Tezuka wouldn’t. Maybe we just have to try and trust that it wasn’t as easy for them as it might seem.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryouma saw how Kikumaru’s nose wrinkled up and the glare he trained on Oishi, who stolidly ignored it. Obviously, the acrobat disagreed with that assessment. Ryouma certainly did—but he saw a glimmer of truth in it, too. Was it easier to believe that Tezuka had been driven by all-consuming teenaged hormones, or that he and Ryouma’s father somehow had a soul-deep connection that defied ethics?

Petulantly, Ryouma decided it didn’t matter. He wasn’t obligated to try and understand them. They were the ones who had hurt him; who had not only broken his heart but also disappointed and disgusted him. Why should he have to force himself to come to terms with something so despicable?

“I’m going home,” he announced. Getting straight to his feet and scooping up his bag and cap. He sensed Oishi’s shock and hurt, and a squeal of dismay revealed Kikumaru’s concern, so he paused at the door. “Thank you,” he said begrudgingly. “For trying. It’s just not that easy. See you tomorrow.”

“Will you come to practice?” Oishi asked.

With the team in a shambles right now and Tezuka shirking his duty altogether, the role of vice-captain must be a rather unenviable responsibility—especially for someone worried about his best friend, his coach, and the most junior member of his team. 

“I guess so,” Ryouma conceded. Even if his feelings about the sport were entwined about thoughts of his father and Tezuka, absorbing himself in tennis had always been his preferred method of escape. “Night.”

*

Nanjirou lay on the floor of his living room, staring at the ceiling and apathetically dodging the occasional batting paw of the cat who was his only companion at present. He felt even lonelier than usual.

Rinko and Nanako had embarked earlier that week on a hot-spring trip long planned for Nanako’s birthday. Tonight, they would doubtlessly be celebrating with champagne and some kind of creamy, over-sweetened, strawberry-filled cake.

He didn’t begrudge them that. He just wished his wife was home to remind him of what he had that he should be grateful for.

She was a good woman, Rinko. She put up with all of his eccentricities, bad habits, and undesirable flaws. She loved him, just as he loved her—but they had never been “in love.” 

That was something Nanjirou had never known he was missing in his life until he met Tezuka. Being in love was different from the life-long friendship and companionship he shared with Rinko. It was passionate and consuming. Tezuka understood him in a way Rinko never could and he, too, understood Tezuka in a way he knew others never would.

That was why he understood the decision Tezuka had made. It couldn’t have been easy for him. Nanjirou should have been the one to end things between them; he’d just thought they could enjoy it for a little while longer. Now, he realized how selfish that desire was. The longer he delayed, the harder it would have become for Tezuka to let go, so the boy had protected his own interests despite what it cost him. 

Nanjirou respected that—but it didn’t make the sadness and loneliness any more bearable.

At times like this—on the rare occasion that he fell into a miasma of regret for the career he had thrown away, or when he felt like he wasn’t good enough for Rinko who could have lived a very different life with another man, or when he wondered what had become of the son he’d let slip…at these times, he had a go-to to cheer himself up. The one thing he had done right in his life. Ryouma.

The little brat was nowhere to be found. Just when Nanjirou needed him most, he had become scarce—either shutting himself in his room and claiming he had to study, or staying out until late like tonight. He was a responsible kid so Nanjirou wasn’t worried. Just lonely.

Thank fuck for Karupin. 

The cat currently had a paw pushing against his cheek and closed right eye for no other reason than because she was as bored as he was. The rain had made them both lethargic, so there they lay on the floor, the cat half-heartedly batting at Nanjirou and the man moping over his recent breakup like the teenager his ex-lover was.

Before the knock, Karupin’s ears twitched and then stood up with interest. Then, she bolted at the sound, leaving a scratch on Nanjirou’s cheek where her claws caught in the rush to scramble.

Sighing, and feeling like an older man than he was, Nanjirou levered himself upright and labored to his feet. He trudged to the door and pulled it open.

*

The shock of the moment was obvious. Nanjirou’s eyes widened and he straightened unnaturally from a lazy slouch. “Tezuka!”

Tezuka missed that, though. He was staring at the foot of the door, his arm still lingering in the air even though the wood he had pounded upon had pulled away from his waiting fist. Slowly, as though operated by a counter-weight, he raised his head as his arm fell to his side. He knew how pathetic he must look with soaked, limp hair falling messily around his tear-streaked face.

Immersing himself in the part, he pleaded, "I didn’t mean to come here. I just… I didn't know where else to go."

Dramas and tragedies would have had him believe the worst—that Nanjirou would slam the door in his face, or sending him packing with a cold word or two to put him in his place. Thankfully, his fears remained unsubstantiated.

Compassion infused the man’s voice. "Tezuka, what happened?"

He’d never spoken with such considerate emotion in their time together and relief trickled throughout Tezuka’s tired body and mind, at odds with all logic. Perhaps there was shelter from this storm after all.

"My mother. She threw me out." Any further explanation would have required too much energy and would have forced him to relive the worst moments of his life with their recounting. It would be enough. Nanjirou would not ask more of him right now.

“Come in.”

It was the invitation Tezuka desperately needed, but now that he had it, complexities rose up in his mind and threatened to overwhelm him.

“I… I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have come here,” he stuttered, knowing the words were futile because here he was. What else could he do now?

Nanjirou’s hesitation didn’t have to mean he truthfully wanted Tezuka’s gone. There was enough between them that he could be considering the sacrifice it took for Tezuka to resist his invitation, even now. The words he spoke next still hurt. 

“Is there somewhere else you can stay?” he asked, gently. “With a friend?”

Thinking of the pity and scorn he knew his friends felt for him right now, Tezuka’s stomach clamped down on the idea of begging them for help. “No,” he said hoarsely. Even so, this had to be worse. Begging for shelter under this roof… Ryouma’s roof… But even when it was all falling apart, the only person he felt cared for him was here. “You’re all I have,” he confessed.

The weight of that statement seemed to come down on his back and he stumbled, falling into Nanjirou’s strong, protective arms. They should feel different now, but they didn’t. They still radiated warmth and the safety he craved. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’ll go.”

He didn’t go. He meant the words but he had no will to fulfill them. Thankfully, Nanjirou didn’t expect him to.

“Shhh,” the man whispered, gently stroking Tezuka’s sopping wet hair. “You don’t have to face this alone.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ryouma didn’t go straight home. He wasn’t ready to be under the same roof as his father just yet. Instead, he went by the street courts to see if there was any evening action going on. He didn’t feel like playing but he was in the mood to watch and he got lucky. He’d heard Momo and Kaidou had been skipping practice to run some errands for Ryuzaki-sensei. They were too dedicated—or just too damn stubborn—to forgo training, though, so they were there playing a match that was no doubt supposed to be light training instead of the aggressive, flat-out tennis brawl it had become. They were so consumed by trying to beat each other that they didn’t even notice the crowd that had gathered, or Ryouma’s presence among it.

For the first time since he had gone in search of Fuji after practice, run into Tezuka and his senpais on their way to consulting with Ryuzaki-sensei, and overheard a conversation that had shattered all of his perceptions, he felt a smirk creep over his lips. Just because his world was a shambles didn’t mean everything had changed. Some things remained constant.

Reluctantly, he let that thought go to where it wished and allowed Oishi’s words to repeat in his mind. Could it be that Tezuka hadn’t changed? Was he still the same person Ryouma had at once admired and yearned for? For that to be true, he would have to believe that there was real emotion in what had come to pass and not just lust or bad judgment.

As much as he wanted to believe that, it hurt even more on a personal level. How could someone Ryouma felt so strongly for feel that way about another man? 

Defiantly, Ryouma cut off the obligatory qualification that reminded him that that man was his own blood and sire. This particular pain wasn’t about that. It was about Tezuka’s choice to be with someone who wasn’t himself. Why couldn’t Tezuka have just chosen him? Even Fuji would have been bearable, because he knew that the tensai had loved Tezuka even longer than he himself had. He could have been happy for Fuji even if he was miserable for himself, but there was just no rhyme or reason to this pain.

Brushing away the tears that had snuck up on him, he retreated from the crowd—and ran directly into Inui. The data specialist was scribbling notes as he observed the match; his height allowing him to watch over the heads of the other onlookers even from a slight distance.

“Echizen,” he said. 

Ryouma saw the way Inui’s eyes flicked to the telltale drops of dew he had missed with his careless swipe, and the internal computation that added that to the list of absences and strange behaviors of Inui’s fellow third-years was apparent in his stoic silence. When the data had run its course, he raised a hand to strategically adjust his glasses. 

“If there is something bothering you, perhaps a soothing tonic would-”

“Save it for your enemies, Inui-senpai,” Ryouma said hastily, and brushed past, fixing his cap in a nervous habit. Oh yes, some things remained constant, including the dangers of his senpais’ kinks and quirks.

*

Since he had passed the threshold of the Echizen household, Tezuka had been unable to speak a word. He followed Nanjirou as directed and stood, shivering slightly, as the man peeled off his wet clothes. 

For once, there was nothing sexy about that act; just pure compassion. He sniffed and tried to smother the occasional sob that still welled up in him as the memory of his mother’s rejection replayed again and again in his mind. Every new moment he stood within those walls was another betrayal of everyone and everything but he still couldn’t think of any alternative except to walk back out into the rain. And stay there.

Maybe that was the answer. He went outside and then he stayed there forever. As a corpse.

It would spare his mother the humiliation of her son’s indecency. It would spare Nanjirou. Ryouma would be revenged. Fuji… Ryuzaki-sensei…

“Shhh, it’s alright, Kunimitsu. It’s alright. Whatever happened, it doesn’t matter. I’ll protect you.”

They were empty words but the arms around him were full of love and care and they put a dampener on the fresh storm of tears that had begun to choke him before he even knew what was happening. Naked, cold, and exhausted from an unaccustomed onslaught of emotion, he clung to Nanjirou and cried himself out.

When he was done, the arms withdrew and wrapped him into a yukata instead. It was made for an adult but it wasn’t so much bigger than the one he had at home… 

“I don’t know if I can ever go back there—all my things… My school books. My tennis-” One by one, the things that he had left behind came to mind for the first time, and behind them, always, lurked the image of his mother. Because it was too painful to dwell on, he looked up at Nanjirou and focused on what was before him. “What am I doing here?” he asked, both of himself and of the man he loved. “Ryouma… Where’s Ryouma?”

“He’s not here,” Nanjirou replied, more directly and seriously than Tezuka had imagined he was capable of. Looking into his eyes, meaningfully engaging his focus, Nanjirou spoke slowly and quietly. “My son has been coming home late all week and my wife is away on a trip. Right now, it’s just you and me. Can you tell me what happened? I promise you, Kunimitsu, I will take care of you. If Ryouma comes home, I’ll just-”

“He knows,” Tezuka breathed, only now realizing that Ryouma hadn’t told Nanjirou what he had learned days ago. “Fuji…” No, that wasn’t important. What was important? “Ryuzaki-sensei. She’s in the hospital because Fuji found out about us and he told her, accidentally—kind of. She knows. Ryouma knows. Everyone… My mother knows.”

To Nanjirou’s credit, fear flashed in his eyes for only a moment. Then, that iron will that allowed him to dominate the tennis court came crashing down like an impenetrable gate and suddenly the fear in his eyes was for Tezuka and Ryuzaki-sensei, and for his son, but none for himself.

“That explains a lot,” he said soberly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault!” Tezuka wheezed, clawing at his face with the pads of his fingers in a frustrated attempt to find some clarity. “It’s mine. I did this. I should have known better, but I was weak. I let them all down.”

“Noooo, no, no, no, no, no.” Nanjirou pulled him into an emphatic embrace so tight it momentarily cut off his breath. “Don’t you dare. This is on me.”

“This is all wrong,” Tezuka whispered. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. It hurt! It hurt so much to end it but I did it because it was the right thing to do! They weren’t supposed to know!” His voice grew progressively louder until he was yelling his despair and the moment he finished, he went limp in Nanjirou’s arms because he still felt safe there; safe enough to let down his guard.

When he gathered his wits, he was sitting on the floor at the foot of Nanjirou’s bed—the bed the man shared with his wife—still ensconced in strong, warm arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m tired. I lost control.”

He felt the kiss to the crown of his head as naturally as wind on his skin. “Whoever else you apologize to for whatever reason; you don’t ever have to apologize to me,” Nanjirou told him. “Tell me what happened. Damage control is my forte.”

*

Ryouma hadn’t decided what to say to his dad yet—truthfully, he didn’t know if he should say anything at all. This would cause his mother so much pain and if the news spread, Tezuka would be done for, too. Truthfully, he wanted Ryuzaki-sensei to take the lead and take the hard choice out of his hands. Even so, he wanted it to be known that he was hurting and that he was angry, so when he got home, he slammed the door so hard it wrung a shriek of terror from Karupin who had come rushing to greet him and now skittered off with her voluminous wealth of fluff sticking up like a porcupine’s needles.

“Satisfied?” drawled a voice from the dark doorway to the faintly candle-lit kitchen.

“No,” Ryouma spat, furious with his father. He really had no idea why Ryouma was so angry, did he? He had no idea how miserable his son was because of his betrayal. How could he stand there looking so damn judgmental after everything he had done?

“Fair enough,” said the man.

It took a moment to register but when Ryouma recognized the uncharacteristic apology in those words and the mild tone of voice, he spluttered and then faltered to silence. He watched his father, trying to figure out what to do with this pensive stranger wearing a familiar face.

“Why?” he whispered.

He couldn’t put a finger on how he knew, he just did. His father was aware that he had found out about the affair. Someone must have told him. Had Ryuzaki-sensei finally called the police? Or had Fuji finally snapped? It didn’t matter.

“Why?” he repeated; this time in a firm tone that demanded an answer.

“There’s no answer I can give you that will make you feel better,” said the man in the doorway; the serious stranger with the sad eyes and the downturned lips. “Ryouma, I love you,” he continued. “You know that, right? As long as you know that.”

“And Tezuka?” Ryouma asked, before he could stop himself. “Do you love him? Is that why you-” He couldn’t say it. He felt sick just thinking about it. “You’re disgusting.”

As he spun around, ready to race up the stairs and shut himself in his room so he wouldn’t have to look at that face for a moment longer, another face came into his field of view and absorbed those words. In the hall beside the stairs, clad in an oversized yukata and weakly clutching a toothbrush, was the last person he wanted to see—ever—but especially here, in the presence of… that man. In Ryouma’s family home!

“Get out,” he snarled.

“Ryouma, don’t. He doesn’t have anywhere to go,” explained a voice that was far, far too calm under the circumstances.

Whirling on his father, Ryouma was struck dumb with the audacity of it all. “Anywhere else!” he snapped. “Just not here. Go home!” he yelled, spinning back to Tezuka.

For the first time, he saw Tezuka as a boy, not a captain—barely older than himself; frail and vulnerable. One moment he saw a victim, then the next he saw a villain; then he saw the older boy he had wanted so badly to accept and acknowledge him, and then that mirage shattered and trickled to the ground in a fine rain of shards.

“I can’t,” Tezuka choked out, pale and shaking. “But I’ll leave. I’ll-”

“You will not,” announced Nanjirou sternly.

Slowly, Ryouma rounded on his father, further amazed that the man could protest his will in this. At least Tezuka understood how wrong this was. How could he have even come here?

There was steel in the gaze that met Ryouma’s spitfire glare. “He’s lost his home.” That statement was more emotional and kind than Ryouma had suspected his father capable of. “Whatever I have done—whatever sins you lay at my feet—I won’t allow you to toss your friend out on the streets. He will stay—for now.”

Whatever Tezuka had done to seduce humanity out of this shitty old man, Ryouma simply could not let this stand. He turned nasty. “Let me get this straight... You're screwing a fourteen year old boy—who happens to be my captain—and people found out, so now he's living with us...”

“There's a lot more to it than that...”

“... YOU'RE SCREWING MY CAPTAIN!”

“Past tense! I know it's hard to understand, but-“

“Don't start pulling that American soap opera crap. I understand. You're perverted. I just thought you liked perving on young girls, but apparently its little boys you're interested in.”

“I'm not-”

“He's only two years older than me!” Ryouma shouted.

“He's a very old fourteen!” 

There it was. With a pout and the rise to a yell, Nanjirou was suddenly that adult child Ryouma had always known; the prankster with a twisted sense of humor and a missing bag of scruples.

The wind momentarily went out of his sails and Ryouma half sighed, half growled. His father wasn't even taking this seriously. “What I don't get is why you think it’s even remotely ok for him to stay here! How..? HOW would mom ever AGREE to this?”

"…She's a very understanding woman."

Despite himself, Ryouma snorted; a moment later, his eyes widened in shock. “She doesn't know. How could she possibly…?”

“Don't tell her. Please.” There was a momentary pause and then Nanjirou sighed out the words he was obviously reluctant to utter. “I’ll do that. She needs to hear it from me.”

“So you can lie? Or twist the truth!?” Ryouma looked away, unable to meet his father’s eyes with the disgust he knew his own held now that he had no choice but to believe the gruesome truth he had so wanted to turn out to be exaggeration and embellishment. This confession made it impossible to pretend anymore. Finally, he spoke again—to the wall. “Why?” he asked, bluntly, for the third time. “I know you love mom, so why?”

“Echizen.”

Ryouma shuddered at the sound of his captain's voice. “I don't want to hear it from you,” he muttered angrily, with this back turned.

“I'm still your captain,” Tezuka reminded him quietly.

“Really? Because I had you mistaken for a home-wrecker,” Ryouma snapped. A moment later, his frustration and anger overwhelmed him and he turned and stalked up the steps without another word.

“Ryouma!” his father called after him, but it was too late, he was already on the landing and then he was shut off in his room with a lingering tingle in his fingers and the satisfying bang of a thoroughly slammed door ringing in his ears.

*  
Tezuka buried his face in the hand that wasn’t curled in a death-grip about the toothbrush he still held so stupidly, but he had no tears left to cry into his palm. His head ached with the pang of tortured sinuses and he felt as if he could drop where he lay and not wake for the world.

“This is insane,” he groaned. “He’s right. I have to leave.”

“No, you do-”

“It was ridiculous for either of us to think this could possibly work,” Tezuka reasoned. “How were you planning to introduce me to your wife? Nanjirou—I have to go.”

“No.”

“Stop it. This is over. I’m-”

“Don’t you dare.”

The vice-like grip that clamped down on Tezuka’s arm was almost inhuman. He twitched and struggled for a moment before going lax to avoid incurring any danger to his shoulder. It was instinct—obsolete instinct. What future could he possibly have now?

“I’m not stupid,” Nanjirou hissed in a voice so intense it made the hairs on Tezuka’s neck stand on end. “The state you’re in—you walk out that door and… and tomorrow you’ll be another statistic; another stupid kid who-”

“Don’t call me-”

“Damn it, I’ll call you whatever the hell I want! I’m not letting you leave this house alone and afraid, with a reason-shaped hole in your skull and a million ways to end it all the second I’m not watching your back.”

Not for a moment had Tezuka doubted Nanjirou’s feelings for him… but he had forgotten. He had forgotten the depth of emotion that lay between them and the sense it all made when they were together. In his lapse of memory, he was shocked to see the pain in Nanjirou’s eyes and hear the anguish in his hushed but forceful voice. 

Of course Nanjirou knew what he was thinking. Of course he would never allow that. No more than Tezuka would allow him to give up on finding a way out of this mess or let him escape into the afterlife were he so inclined. They had made this bed of nails and now they both had to lie in it, and it wasn’t fair or right, but so would everyone they had dragged down here with them.

Because Nanjirou cared about him, Tezuka couldn’t make a false promise not to hurt himself if he left, so he made the only other promise he could. “Ok. I’ll stay,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

Only in retrospect, as the fear whooshed out of Nanjirou with a breath of relief, did Tezuka realize that his… ex… had truly been terrified for his life. It was a mark of how well they had come to understand each other that Nanjirou recognized the passing of the threat with those simple words.

Now, he deigned to show a hint of weakness himself, pulling Tezuka to his chest and just holding him for a moment before letting go and turning his back. “Your mother…” he said softly. “She will come around. You’re her son. She will loathe me and probably stop at nothing to see me behind bars… but she’ll forgive you in time.”

Tezuka doubted that, but it was hard to explain why he felt that way. “I studied the local law, you know,” he said instead. “They can’t touch you if I swear you never touched me, and if that fails, then I can claim to have instigated everything. They can’t prove otherwise whether they believe me or not. I won’t let you take the fall—at least, not with the law.”

Nanjirou laughed, seemingly at the thoughts in his head rather than at Tezuka’s brave statement. “You might not thank me for it in the long run, but you have to know, Kunimitsu…” His words trailed to a long, drawn-out pause. When he finished the thought, the sentiment infused into the words was tangible—and heartbreaking. “You’re family to me.” 

That was something Tezuka had desperately needed to hear. All at once, he was flooded with warmth and his knees weakened, sending him crashing to the floor. Family didn’t have to be made of blood; it could be born of love, too. What Nanjirou promised him was that he would never be truly alone in this world even if his mother stripped him of his name and identity. Even if he was disowned and disavowed, there was one man who would love him; who, short of being free to be in love with him, would call him family. Right now, that was the best thing he could hope for and he clung to it viciously as he fell into an almost unnatural sleep in the safe, loving arms that scooped him up from the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

When Tezuka woke, the faintest promise of light was beginning to penetrate the deep dark of night, creeping in from the edges and crevices of the bamboo blinds. He watched blearily for however long it took for that receding of the darkness to transform into a true herald of the dawn.

He wished he could believe that the events of the past 12 hours could be undone but he felt reality twisting and churning in his gut. He was vaguely aware that Nanjirou had carried him to bed and with that knowledge came the understanding that the weight against his side was none other than the former lover he had never had the luxury of sleeping beside during the course of their relationship.

Could it even be called that? The word “relationship” implied a sense of legitimacy. They had been anything but.

Yet here they were, sleeping side by side in Nanjirou’s bed; in his home. It was a nice fantasy: a same-sex couple of varied ages with an adopted son sleeping one floor up and a cat hunting in the yard. He would ignore the indecency of the hour and slide his arms about his sleeping husband, dislodging the snores. When their bodies were flush against one another, he would stretch sensually and kiss Nanjirou fully awake until they were grinding like horny teens with no self-control.

The fantasy was anti-productive but the proximity to Nanjirou’s body was the real problem. He remembered this man’s touch so vividly, still. The memories and the longing left him aching heart and soul in addition to the physical ache of erection.

It kept him awake through the morning, long past the sounds of Ryouma rising and preparing for school, and past the final angry thump of the front door at his departure. By the time Nanjirou woke, he had no will to defend against the longing, or the lips that greeted him with kisses to his neck, the hands that knew all the right spots to aim for to strip away his misgivings, and the voice that gruffly spoke his name and otherwise negated the need for talk while saying nothing significant at all.

Then came the moment when Nanjirou rolled above him and gazed down upon him ripe with lust but also with a tender cast to his appreciative expression. It lasted a moment too long and Tezuka caught his breath and his scattered logic reformed piece by piece until he could say the impossible words. He didn’t mean them. He didn’t want to mean them. But it was enough just to say them.

“Not here,” he said first—suddenly hyper aware of the bed and the space they occupied, and the fact that they simply could not conduct such activities in such a place. “Not now,” he amended, thinking of the trauma of the previous evening and the fragile state of his mental well-being. “Not… ever again,” he finally corrected, realizing that none of those previous concerns mattered because they were circumstantial but there was no leeway for circumstance between them anymore, because there was nothing between them anymore—at least, nothing physical. There couldn’t be.

“As usual,” Nanjirou huffed, clearing his throat and reluctantly removing himself from the sphere of immediate contact, “You are correct in making the responsible decision I should have done.”

Letting go of the tension that hummed in his muscles, Tezuka threw an arm over his eyes and sighed. “Staying here is a bad idea,” he pointed out.

“Obviously, but until someone comes up with a better idea, we’ll just have to make it work—starting with setting up a room for you so this doesn’t happen again,” Nanjirou reasoned. “Remove the temptation and all that.”

Tezuka failed to mention that Nanjirou himself was temptation incarnate and removing himself from the equation was the only way to fully eradicate that particular hurdle. Keeping his eyes covered while the man dressed was a puny effort and mostly wasted because that loose yukata look was more erotic than nudity. He would just have to get used to it and learn to stifle his desires.

Maybe after he took a shower, and took care of his libido while he was at it.

*

Ryouma was tight-lipped at practice. He could tell Oishi was relieved that he showed up but he didn’t go because his senpai had asked him to. He went because he couldn’t stand to remain under the same roof as Tezuka and his father for a moment longer and he had nothing better to do to take his mind off of it all.

At least, that was the concept. The reality was that all roads led back to the problem at hand, and none more directly than tennis. Consequently, the battering he gave to Momo was a little too severe, and even Kaidou protested.

The rest of the day followed suit, with Ryouma losing his temper and making enemies of even his most dogged advocates, until Ryuzaki actually slapped him for snapping at Tomoko on the way to afternoon practice. Seeing this, Oishi hurried over and pulled Ryouma aside.

"Maybe I shouldn't have pushed you to come back yet," he fretted. "Maybe what you actually need is to take some time off—from school, even. There's a lot-"

"He's at my house," Ryouma expressed through gritted teeth. 

"What?"

"Tezuka is at my house."

Oishi searched his eyes for a moment and then pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll cancel practice," he said.

"No-"

"The team is in shambles. With our most essential members falling apart... Maybe we all need a break." Oishi seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Ryouma and it occurred to the younger boy that the strain on the vice captain must be enormous. His was not a personal tragedy but that of collateral damage and it was unfair that he had to shoulder Ryouma’s suffering on top of filling the hole left by Tezuka.

"I'll stay," Ryouma muttered, unable to curb a touch of resentment that Tezuka got to play the victim and avoid the duty of holding together this team he was responsible for while leaving the true victim—being Ryouma—to pick up the pieces. "Maybe... I could play Kawamura-senpai."

Oishi quickly read his intention and grinned with the kind of resilient optimism only a member of the Golden Pair could find at a time like this. "A few hard hits to work off some of the strain?" His cheer faltered and he sounded reluctant as he asked, "Can you keep it on the court?"

Ryouma nodded, ashamed at his behavior even though he was indignant that he had even been driven to behave that way.

"Good, because here comes Fuji," Oishi announced, looking nervous.

Ryouma didn't care. His ex was the least of his problems. 

The afternoon practice went much better than the morning's, and Ryouma did feel better after battling Kawamura's heavy shots. Afterward, Oishi and Kikumaru joined him at his request and helped him hunt down Momo to apologize for his aggressive play in the morning. Momo forgave him readily enough, especially when Oishi lightly questioned Ryouma about Tezuka while they were re-fueling with burgers after the day's exertions.

Kaidou had disappeared with Inui, who had said something about Fuji, who had been hovering over an exhausted Kawamura after practice. That left the vice captain and Ryouma's two closest confidantes to source the full scope of his distress.

"She really kicked him out? He didn't... run away?"

Ryouma shook his head. "She must have. He was too... broken for anything else."

Oishi seemed pained by that image. "I can't believe she would... How did she find out?"

Ryouma shrugged.

Kikumaru, meanwhile, gulped down his overflowing mouthful of strawberry shake to dig around in the wound a bit. "And your dad actually let him stay!? In your house!? Where your mum lives!? Are they still doing i-"

"Eiji-senpai!"

Momoshiro's horrified expression said it all. This was the first he had heard of any of it, and Oishi had had to explain from the beginning in a prim tone and with a look that implied the tea he was sipping was actually pure bile. (Ryouma had momentarily wondered with almost glorious distraction if that was an ingredient Inui had experimented with.) Meanwhile, Momo, like all of them had, was obviously struggling with the very concept of a sexually active Tezuka, let alone...

"You were right," Ryouma admitted to his burger. "Oishi-sempai... I think... I think my idiot dad really cares about him."

“Whatever the situation, I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to stay at your house. I’ll talk to his mother and try and get her to…” Oishi trailed off. To what? To see reason where there was none to see? To forgive her son when even his best friends hadn’t achieved that yet? “Maybe I can pick up some of his things. He can stay at my house.”

“Sempai…” Ryouma’s voice was gruff with emotion as he ventured to say something he really didn’t want to. “I’ve never seen him the way he looked last night—I’ve never seen anyone look that way. He might not… be ok… anywhere else.”

*

Fuji’s cure-all was a good bang and a quick retreat. Since Ryouma would barely even look at him, he had to look elsewhere for this particular tonic. Thankfully, he had a wide pool of talent to choose from.

Actually, it wasn’t the first time he’d sought comfort from Taka-san. The gentle giant was always up for a romp and never asked too many questions. Having already taken the brunt of Ryouma’s anguish at practice, he was remarkably game to provide the same service to Fuji.

Well, not quite the same service.

Clawing at the pillows as he was dragged down the mattress and bent into a more pliable position, Fuji let out a monumental groan and then lost his breath entirely as he was pounded into utopia. When the big bang finally faded from his vision, he found he had rolled onto his back and was staring wide-eyed at the roof. Sound returned next, in the form of a hurricane of breath as both he and Taka-san heaved in air.

He experimentally allowed himself to remember the scene of Tezuka’s mother excising him from her heart, and the shattered remnant that had flown from the house before Fuji could take it back. He couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t make it right. Once again, he had pushed the little red button labeled “Worst Case Scenario” almost as if he did it on purpose just to see what would happen.

The experiment was successful. He was too numb and enervated to be moved by the memory. Weakly, he dabbed at the sweat running into his hairline. When was the last time he had sweated this much playing tennis?

“Are you gonna tell me what that was all about?” Taka-san asked, deceptively casually. “Was the break up that bad?”

“What? Oh. No. It’s not about Ryouma… Mostly. Not really. Ok, it kind of is but not directly. Well, not-”

“This is new.” The light tone in response to his babbling was more curious than teasing but it annoyed Fuji anyway.

He huffed, and then he smiled and let his head roll to the left so he could give the power player a flirty little glance. “No,” he said sweetly. “I’m not going to tell you a thing.”

“Fine. If you don’t want to tell me Ryouma broke up with you because of something you did to Tezuka and/or Ryuzaki-sensei that somehow doubled in gravity last night and pried you further apart, that’s fine,” said Taka-san, as kindly and casually as ever. “But eventually you’re going to realize that if you didn’t want to tell me, you’d already be out the door by now, so why don’t we just skip the epiphany and you can give me proper reason to fret and worry about why our whole team seems to be going to hell in a hand basket.”

Fuji didn’t give Taka-san enough credit. Sometimes being a big, dumb teddy bear was a really good cover for an insightful, empathetic mastermind. Not to mention a really good lay.

“If I tell you… You’re never going to be rid of the image,” he warned.

A short while later, Taka-san further surprised him by admitting quite candidly that he didn’t altogether mind the image. Actually, he quite liked the image. In fact, was Fuji up for another round…?

As weird as it was that the idea of Tezuka and Ryouma’s dad getting it on turned Takashi on, Fuji was indeed up for that. So he waited until after they were sweaty and snuggly and satiated once more to kill the mood with the news of what had gone down at Tezuka’s house the night before.

“I’m worried about him,” Fuji admitted. “I have no idea where he is or what kind of state he’s in. I called his mum. He hasn’t been home. Even Inui can’t suggest where he might have gone.”

Taka-san squeezed his shoulders briefly in consolation. “Nobody is as stubborn and resilient as Tezuka. We’ll find him and we’ll sort all of these issues out, one by one. Tezuka will survive this and Ryouma will recover. Nanjirou-sensei might be in for a rough ride, though. It’s a shame. If Tezuka were as old as he acted, they’d be a really great couple.”

“Dating Akutsu really messed you up,” Fuji muttered, to which Taka-san just laughed and agreed.

*

Oishi was really amazing. Tezuka’s mother didn’t want anything to do with him but the vice captain had managed to get let into the house to gather some of Tezuka’s clothes and personal items—and his books, because obviously school was the top priority in this situation. 

Having achieved the impossible, Oishi insisted on going home with Ryouma to speak to his best friend. When he came face to face with Nanjirou, though, he seemed to lose his resolve.

It was weird watching the expressions play across Oishi’s face. It was like he suddenly saw Nanjirou as a man rather than an adult, and he could now clearly imagine that man doing manly things. Like Tezuka. Worse, he was thinking about those things in Ryouma’s presence. Even worse, he was in Nanjirou’s home. What if it wasn’t Tezuka the man was interested in but boys his age? What if…?

The shake of the head was as physical a mental cue as any Ryouma had seen. The spiraling thoughts just got tossed right out of that egg-shaped skull.

“May I speak to Tezuka?” Oishi asked with an unfailing politeness that most people wouldn’t waste their breath on at this point.

“I don’t see why not,” Nanjirou said lightly. “He’s out on the tennis court. Ryouma will show you the way.”

Scowling, Ryouma shoved past his father and dropped his bag near the foot of the stairs. When he realized Oishi wasn’t following after him, he stopped and let out a puff of breath to expel some of his frustration. There was no point in taking that out on his sempai. “This way,” he prompted, waiting for the sound of footsteps behind him before leading the way through to the back yard and the path to the temple in which resided Nanjirou’s impromptu tennis court.

He stopped when they were within hearing distance of the cracking contact between racket and ball, and the labored breathing that accompanied it. Looking up at Oishi, he tried to find the right words and instead found himself simply willing the vice captain to understand.

Impressively, Oishi did. “I’ll take it from here,” he said, giving Ryouma the chance to avoid confronting Tezuka for a little longer. Of course he would have to eventually, living under the same roof as they inexplicably were, but he wasn’t ready yet. 

“Thank you,” Ryouma said—barely louder than a whisper because it meant acknowledging his own weakness.

“It’s probably better if I speak to him alone, anyway,” said Oishi, in so firm a tone that Ryouma felt a little nervous on Tezuka’s behalf and doubly proud of his vice captain. “I’ll come see you before I leave,” he promised.

He was true to his word. When he announced himself after knocking softly on Ryouma’s bedroom door, he sounded tired and sad. However, there was no hint of that when he entered the room at Ryouma’s invitation.

Smiling kindly, Oishi lightly lifted the cover of the book Ryouma was reading for English class. They were only supposed to be studying up to chapter five, but he was nearly at the end. It was actually a pretty interesting read.

“Oh, I remember that one!” said Oishi, brimming with nostalgia. “I didn’t really understand much at the time but after I saw the movie in second year I read it properly… I still don’t think I understood as much as I’d like but it was interesting. You probably have no trouble with it, right?”

“Of course. I grew up overseas. It’s pretty impressive that you read the whole thing, though,” Ryouma offered.

Laughing like a maniac and posing like a professor, Oishi put on a deep voice. “What kind of a doctor would I make if I couldn’t read through a children’s book? Ahahahaha!”

It wasn’t even the kind of joke that was actually a joke that just wasn’t funny. Ryouma wasn’t really sure what to make of it.

Clearing his throat, Oishi tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. “Seriously, though. I probably can’t help with your English homework but if there’s anything I can do, please rely on me, ok? …If you need to talk, or yell, or if you want to get away for a while… Me and Eiji… and Momo, and everyone… We’re here for you.”

“And Tezuka?” Ryouma asked, keeping his eyes firmly on the page. “Are you there for him, too?”

After fumbling around for the words, Oishi seemed to settle on something. “I’ve been imagining that he’s somehow different—somehow changed, or that he was always some kind of closeted pervert, or... The thing is, he’s the same Tezuka. I know that this has hurt you and made you uncomfortable, and with good reason… but I still care about him, and somehow I still respect him. I believe he’ll come back from this—that we all will, if we try.”

A score of reprimands, sarcastic jibes, and angry retorts scrolled through Ryouma’s mind in a matter of seconds, but when he finally responded, it was with the hope that it would make him a better person. “I’ll try,” he said. “But no promises.”

“That’s more than anyone has the right to ask for,” Oishi told him, with an annoyingly patronizing ruffle of the hair that was actually strangely comforting.

As he was leaving, Ryouma closed his book and looked up at the retreating back of a boy so often underestimated. “Sempai,” he voiced, stopping Oishi at the door. “Buchou is really lucky to have a friend like you—and so am I.”

The warm, genuine smile that greeted his words secretly made Ryouma think that Kikumaru was pretty lucky, too.


	7. Chapter 7

Again, Tezuka woke uneasily in this strange house, in yet another room. The sensation increased to the point that it made him nauseous and he stumbled from the Japanese-style guest room and hurried down the hall to the bathroom he barely remembered Nanjirou pointing out on a brief tour of the upper floor the previous night. However, when he got there, he simply leaned against the bathroom door, resting his forehead on the wood until the queasiness passed.

When it did, he realized it was because he had turned his face aside some time ago and had been staring at the door he knew stood between him and the root of his guilt-spawned sickness. Ryouma. 

Oishi had really hit the nail on the head with some extremely uncharacteristic expletives. What Tezuka had done was not just wrong, it was cruel, and Ryouma was the victim. He couldn’t leave things between them the way they were. Ryouma had trusted and believed in him, and he had betrayed that faith in the worst possible way.

There was nothing he could say. Just showing his face to the boy would surely make things worse. 

Even so, he had promised he would stay—and if he didn’t, he would surely do exactly what Nanjirou was so afraid of—so it was either stay or commit to the worst. So he would stay. So he had to do something—anything—even if it would only exacerbate the aggression Ryouma had shown him in the few moments they had seen each other in passing. 

Ryouma was his subordinate and he was suffering a mortal blow to his family life. It was Tezuka’s duty to do whatever he could to help him find perspective and what solace was to be found—by any means necessary short of breaking his vital promise to Nanjirou. If that meant letting Ryouma tear strips into him, then he owed at least that much.

Aware that it was absurdly early, he knocked very quietly.

“Fuck off.”

Tezuka physically recoiled. Then, he eased the door open and slipped inside. “…Language,” he scolded mildly.

Just because he deserved it didn’t mean it was appropriate for Ryouma to use such words. Then again, he was hardly the model of what was appropriate these days.

“Get the fuck out of my room,” Ryouma expanded in a bland tone that spoke of sleepless exhaustion and a deep well of anger that had run almost dry—almost.

Tezuka shut the door softly and took a step forward. “I didn’t think you would be awake but I had to try. I was hoping we could talk.”

There was no answer and Ryouma had what must have been curtains drawn tightly shut so Tezuka could make out very little in the dark. He decided to plow on, regardless of his inability to gauge a reaction. “I’ll talk, then. Ryouma… I realize that I made an awful mistake in coming here—and that’s only my most recent example of bad judgment—but I want… I need you to know… I didn’t come here with any… ulterior motives. I was lost. I think… I felt that… only Nanjirou could accept what I had done—because it was his mistake, too.”

“Great. You can both burn in hell together,” hissed a voice, closer than Tezuka had expected.

He moved forward again and reached out, coming into contact with a tiny frame even as he tripped over the tricky brim of a carelessly discarded cap and sent them both toppling to the bed.

“Get off me,” Ryouma complained—instinctively keeping his voice low even though it wouldn’t really matter at this point if he yelled and woke his father.

Tezuka saw a chance and grasped at it. “Not until you listen. Please, just listen. I know you're angry... Ryouma, I'm sorry. I-”

“You don't have the right to call me that,” Ryouma snapped.

*

Having lain awake all night hating Tezuka because he didn’t actually hate him and hating his dad for not being as evil and lecherous as he should have been to do this, Ryouma was half delusional with exhaustion when the knock came at his door. He wasn’t entirely sure it had been a knock at all, and not just some trick of the old house or a restless Karupin, but just in case, he instructed the potential figment of his imagination to fuck off.

It was no figment—it was Tezuka. Somehow he had the balls to approach Ryouma in the dead of night—or the morning. Whatever. It was unfathomable, either way. And he had the gall to scold Ryouma for foul language? Well, there was a lot more where that came from.

When the nastiness failed, Ryouma tried silence, but that just made it easier to hear the pain and desperation in Tezuka’s voice when he begged Ryouma’s understanding—not for fucking his dad, but for coming here, to their home, where he didn’t belong. 

As much as Ryouma wanted to focus solely on his anger, Oishi’s words kept popping into his head and taking some of the fight from him, little by little. Try as he might, he couldn’t stay angry over something he knew was out of Tezuka’s control. Worse, he suddenly realized that he desperately wanted to believe Tezuka was the same person Ryouma had always thought he was and that maybe it really was all just a big mistake…

To be honest, not once had he thought Tezuka might be here to try and steal his dad away for good, or anything else stupid like that. In fact, he hadn’t really thought about why Tezuka was here, only that it was crazy that he was—but if it was so crazy, there had to be some kind of reason behind it, so Tezuka’s words actually made sense and started to shift that lump of disgust that lingered in Ryouma’s belly and integrate it with strands of sympathy and understanding. That was unforgivable, so when Tezuka came crashing down on top of him and he was pinned down by the very person he had always fantasized would do exactly that to him, he lost his resolve.

“You don’t have the right to call me that,” he snapped, childishly. It was the least important thing he could have taken a shot at and he knew it was a way out—a side step from the deeper issues.

“You're right. I apologize.” Tezuka seemed to hesitate for a second but never relinquished his grip, and then he charged ahead. “I honestly don't know how this happened,” he explained desperately. “It's just an attraction. Something I don't understand, and-”

“What now?” Ryouma cut in, not wanting to hear any more about why Tezuka had fallen for his asshole father. Really, that was the part he should be focusing on, here. His father! “Are you going to continue to embarrass my whole family?”

“I... Of course not. It should never have happened in the first place. I sh-“

“Evidently,” Ryouma inserted. He didn’t care if it was immature of him. He wanted Tezuka to know how much he hated this whole ordeal.

“What can I do?” Tezuka begged. “What can I say to make you forgive me?”

Like the wise and arrogant child that he was, Ryouma responded, “Nothing. That's my choice to make.”

Tezuka made to reply and then cleverly shut his mouth. “It's my fault,” he said eventually. “Don't blame your father.”

Looking up into the darkness that now had breath to caress his cheeks and hair to tickle his nose, Ryouma read everything Tezuka meant to say into those few words. “You sound like you're in love with him,” he pointed out, rather bitterly.

The silhouette of a head shifted uncomfortably.

“Baka,” Ryouma muttered. “He loves my m-.”

“I know,” Tezuka cut in quietly. “I know that.”

There was so much defeat in those words—and such regret and despair, and tired resignation. All at once, it was like Ryouma didn’t even care about all the surrealism and indignity in the face of this strange, sad reality.

“I guess that's punishment enough,” he murmured, then couldn’t resist adding, “Hurts, doesn't it? When the one you love can only see someone else.”

Tezuka was frozen above him, probably peering through the dark, trying to study his expression and analyze that loaded statement. “Yes, it does,” he agreed, finally. “Are you...” He took a risk. “Are you talking about Fuji?” He was, of course, referring to the tensai’s undisguised feelings for him, despite the relationship Fuji and Ryouma had briefly shared.

Ryouma weighed his answer in silence for a few seconds before saying candidly, “No.”

Tezuka swore, catching on. He finally let go and sat back on his knees. There was a rustle as if he were running a hand through his hair.

“We've all made a real mess of this, haven't we?” Tezuka sighed. Ryouma just glared coldly in his direction, which he seemed to sense accurately enough. “Fine,” Tezuka grumbled. “I've made a mess of it.”

Slowly, Ryouma sat up, scooting back so his legs were no longer under the captain. He drew his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them.

“It's more his fault than yours,” he muttered. “He's a stupid, perverted old man.”

“He's a genius,” Tezuka argued reflexively.

“So's Fuji,” Ryouma pointed out.

“Fuji's even more of a sex addict than Nanjirou,” Tezuka replied, with a twist of amusement that somehow felt more comfortable than all of the bitter anguish up until this point.

“Only when you're around,” Ryouma returned with a secret little smirk—after a wince at Tezuka not only mentioning the word “sex,” but also referring to his father in the same sentence.

“...Echizen-”

“Ryouma.”

“Ryouma... I didn’t intend… that… for…”

Ryouma shrugged as Tezuka struggled to find the right words, then spoke quickly, knowing his gesture went unseen. “You never meant any harm, I know; but just because you didn't mean to screw up my family along with your own damn life, hurt me—and Fuji—put Ryuzaki-sensei back in the hospital, and place the entire team on shaky ground, doesn't mean you can shirk the blame.”

“I deserve that,” Tezuka sighed.

“I still think that jackass I call a father deserves more of it,” Ryouma offered just a little sullenly. “And Ryuzaki-sensei’s condition is mostly Fuji’s fault, really.”

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Tezuka asked hopefully after a short, uncomfortable silence.

“No. But… close enough,” Ryouma answered. “Tezuka… Buchou… Is-is it really that bad? At home, I mean.”

There was a long silence and Ryouma was startled when the majority of Tezuka’s body thumped down on the mattress as if he had given up the fight with gravity. He was beginning to wonder if the captain was still conscious when he finally spoke. There had been a brief uplift to the conversation with a hint of wry humor touching them both at this unusual dawn hour, but now Tezuka’s voice fell flat and spoke of agony buried beneath a depth of antipathy.

“It was just like with Ryuzaki-sensei. He came charging in and threw around accusations until she heard them, and I felt so cornered I admitted to everything before I knew she was there. I’ve never seen her so… hateful. I think… if it had been a woman, even an adult… she might have forgiven me.”

That was such a sad thing to say that Ryouma reverted to a default of defensive aggression. “Go back to bed,” he said coldly at length.

It was futile, though. The sound of deep breathing reached his ears a moment later and he realized Tezuka had fallen asleep where he lay. Sighing, Ryouma lay back down with his knees curled in to avoid the dead weight at his side. Three breaths later, he, too, was asleep.

*

"Ryouma, honey. Hey, sweetheart."

The gentle voice stirred him from a sleep that had grown gradually lighter as the room heated with the midday sun. Now, his consciousness floated to the surface and he blinked into the soft light filtering through a sliver of window his mother had freed to facilitate sight in the dark room.

He must have slept right through his alarm. It had to be pretty late if she was home already from her mountain get-away.

"Mum? What time is it?" he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes and beginning to stretch out his cramped legs, only to hit a soft but sturdy object.

"Shhh." Her gaze flicked meaningfully to the sleeping beauty draped almost artfully over the remainder of his bed. "It's 1:30."

“Buchou…”

“Nanjirou told me what happened,” said his mother in a quiet, tender voice that was inherently at odds with that statement.

“He told you?” Ryouma repeated, not quite able to fathom that her reaction to the shocking news did not seem to involve any emotional trauma whatsoever.

“Mhmm.” She reached over Ryouma to brush some of Tezuka’s hair back from his slack face. He was still sleeping surprisingly peacefully. “Poor dear. He must be exhausted.”

“Poor…? Didn’t he tell you… Of course he didn’t.” Ryouma was too tired to correct the oversight just now. “1:30…? Why didn’t dad wake me…?”

“He said you and Tezuka were awake late, talking, and that you could both use the sleep,” Rinko explained. “I thought you might want to attend practice this afternoon, though.”

“Sure,” Ryouma agreed, remembering his promises to Oishi-senpai. He could use an excuse to get out of the house and clear his head a little, anyway.

“Do you think Tezuka-”

“Let him sleep,” Ryouma said quickly.

“Ok, come down and get something to eat and then I’ll drive you to school,” said his mother, leaving as quietly as she had entered.

Tugging vaguely to let a little more light into the room, Ryouma took a good look at his bed companion. Wasn’t this what he had always wanted? Tezuka in his bed? It had only taken multiple cases of personal catastrophe to make it happen. 

Catty sarcasm aside, Ryouma felt his temperament soften as he gazed at his sleeping captain. He had come to terms with at least a couple of facts: Tezuka was suffering as much, if not more, than he was himself; and he still cared about Tezuka. 

Whether or not he could live with a teenager his father had taken to bed in violation of marriage, law, and all decency was one thing. Whether or not he could live with his crush and captain, was another. Whether or not he could step up to the mark and be there for someone he loved who needed him and needed his forgiveness… That was something else again. In spite of expectations, he was beginning to think he just might be able to do all of those things. For Tezuka. Not that it would be fair, or easy, or even remotely straightforward.

The alternative was losing Tezuka entirely, and he knew it, and he knew without even considering it that that was not an option. Even in the worst case scenario, he would sooner run off together with this shockingly naïve fool of a captain than let go of all Tezuka had come to mean to him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has finally occurred to me that I just really love messing with Tezuka. Even the fics I thought were about Fuji are actually just about Fuji screwing with Tezuka or Fuji being screwed up screwing with Tezuka. None of my tenipuri fics reflects this more accurately than Wild Card, though. This is basically my magnum opus of Tezuka torture. Seriously. Will he ever stop crying?

When Tezuka woke, his back ached and his legs were numb. How he could possibly have slept in such an awkward position was an utter mystery—for all of a minute, until reality came crashing down on top of him like a rain of loaded tennis balls.

He groaned and pushed himself upright, looking for the rightful occupant of the bed. All he found was a curious kitty, nibbling on his unfeeling toe.

Judging by the position of the light streaming in through the open blinds, it was late afternoon at best. He spared a thought for school, then decided he didn't care. He didn't care if he was scolded, or even expelled. Most likely, they would just call his mother and she would tell them everything. He would lose his reputation, his captaincy, and anything else left to him. He'd be better off dead. Damn it! Why couldn't he just break that stupid promise to Nanjirou and get it over with!? Why-

Why was the cat forcing its way into his arms and crawling up higher? It was hard to ignore that insistent mewling... and that gloriously soft and fluffy fur.

Before he knew it, the agony of despair that had constricted his chest and stomach and begun to close his throat passed. He buried his dry eyes and even drier skin in the soft body that squirmed delightfully in his arms and took a deep breath of the inexplicably calming scent of "cat."

"She likes you."

The charming, feminine voice caught him off guard and he looked up from his peaceful repose in horror at the woman he had grievously wronged. She was even lovelier than he had imagined. He could hardly believe she was Ryouma's dam, let alone wife to a man like Nanjirou.

"Mrs. Echizen," he breathed, if only to try it out on his tongue.

"Rinko. Please." She crossed the room and lifted the cat with a little croon. "Come on. There's a sandwich with your name on it down in the kitchen. You must be ravenous."

"Me?" Tezuka stammered, stupidly.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't feed this one a sandwich!" she scoffed. "Not that she'd eat it. Karupin is an even pickier eater than Ryouma."

Tezuka began to follow but he doubled back to the bathroom to wash his face and then stared at himself in the mirror. What was he doing? He knew that leaving was the only right thing to do and yet he simply couldn’t—but he also couldn’t sit around eating sandwiches and lying to Rinko’s face like her husband had clearly done.

For just one weak moment, Tezuka was disgusted—not with himself for once, but with Nanjirou. How could he do this to his wife? Did he think it was kinder to hide the truth from her? Did he think it was so simply solved?

“Tezuka-kun?”

“I’ll be right down!” he called, belatedly kicking himself for the commitment.

He knew. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut for long. He knew that he didn’t want to. He also knew there was merit to Nanjirou’s thinking. He knew that Ryouma would not thank him; even if he, too, thought it was the right thing to do.

He knew he was in more trouble than ever.

“Rinko-san,” he said, entering the kitchen.

She smiled and turned from her task to pull out a chair for him, bidding him to sit. He looked at it, and at the delicious-looking sandwich on the table, swallowed heavily, and remained standing, returning his gaze to the woman.

“There’s something-”

“Please, sit—may I call you Kunimitsu?”

“If you wish—but-”

“Sit, Kunimitsu. There’s something we need to discuss, but I’d like for you to eat first.”

Uncomfortable as he was, Tezuka did as asked. He didn’t see any point in resisting. Perhaps it was selfishness, but if she threw him out—when she threw him out—at least he would have something in his stomach. Assuming he didn’t throw it up.

In spite of the queasiness he was feeling, the sandwich went down smoothly. It was thoughtfully plain but still very tasty—perhaps more so for his having slept through breakfast in addition to eating so little of late.

Gratefully, he accepted the tea nudged towards him at the end of the meal and sipped it to whet his mouth. All the better to say what he now must.

“I-”

“I know that you had an affair with my husband.” The stern tone and even sterner words took the bottom right out of Tezuka’s freshly filled stomach. “I also know that you ended it.”

Tezuka tried to speak but choked on the words. He tried again. “Why…?” He thought back over their interaction so far; her kind tone, her consideration, the sandwich, everything. “Why aren’t you…?”

“Kunimitsu, this must be very confusing for you, I know.” She reached across the table for his hand. He recoiled as if burned, then recoiled from the action itself, trying to understand it. She should be the one recoiling from him. What was going on? “I don’t blame you for what happened… I don’t blame Nanjirou, either—well, there are some aspects… Nanjirou has always been attracted to men. I’ve always known that. He’s a good husband—mostly—and a good father—more or less. He’s never cheated on me… before. Even so, I’ve been prepared for it for a long time. I just didn’t think… You’re so young…”

If the conversation was awkward, the silence was even more so. Tezuka’s hands twitched as he considered drinking to fill the gap, decided it wasn’t really appropriate, and then just stared down at the cup as if that would save him from having to say something eventually. It bothered him to be called young. Of all the things she had said and could have said, for some reason that disturbed him the most.

“That’s not…” He sighed, crossed his right hand over his left and curled them both into one tense fist, then looked her in the eyes. “That’s not the problem,” he said with all the confidence he could muster. “I don’t want you to think… Don’t take pity on me because I’m under-aged… Nanjirou’s not like that. He’s not-”

“I know. I didn’t mean it that way. I know enough about you—and him—to understand that much. What I don’t understand…”

“What is it?”

“How did this happen? No. Don’t answer that. It was a rhetorical question. I’m not asking for details.”

Tezuka took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “…What are you asking for?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe it’s not fair to put this on you but it’s too late to worry about fairness now… The fact is, I had an affair with your husband… and now I’m staying here in your home. You have every right to ask me… to make me leave. If that’s what you want-”

“No. Kunimitsu, no.” How was it that only now did she sound horrified? “That’s not what I want at all.”

“How can you say that? He’s your husband and I… I knew it all along. I knew he was married. I knew it was wrong, and I still… It just didn’t seem real until it was too late.”

“Nothing is too late.” The deep compassion in her tone struck Tezuka to the core. “This situation is complicated—too complicated to define. It isn’t just between you and I and Nanjirou… There are Ryouma’s feelings to consider, as well—but one thing is very clear to me. Nanjirou loves you. It’s not an easy thing to accept that the person you love is in love with someone else but I know he doesn’t love me any less for it. Despite appearances, he has a big heart…” She trailed off into an extended silence, studying her hands as if they held some kind of answer. “I don’t know what happens next, but I won’t let you be the one to suffer alone—even if Nanjirou would ever allow it, which I know he won't. The point is… Your mother should be the one person who will always support you through anything but she has failed in that. So you’ll stay here. We’ll work things out.”

Worse than being disowned and cast aside, worse than the pain of knowing what a terrible person he truly was, worse than seeing Ryouma hurt over his mistakes… This undeserved kindness was agony.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” It was so hard to speak, as if speaking triggered his gag reflex because his throat was so constricted with shame and sorrow.

“Kunimitsu, if I can do this, then so can you.”

Just like that, he was crying again—this time, for her. Suddenly, words poured out of him as freely as the tears. “I’m so sorry. You were just a concept—something I was aware of but didn’t understand. I thought it would be ok if you never found out, that you would never have to be hurt. I thought nothing could be worse than facing Ryouma. If I’d known you… If I’d known how-”

She cleared her throat and cut in, picking up the empty plate in front of Tezuka and taking it with her to the sink. “First of all, we need to establish routine, or life will never begin to feel normal again, so starting tomorrow, you need to go to school.”

Tezuka’s insides froze so solidly with panic that even the flow of tears ran dry. “I…I can’t. Everyone knows-”

“There’s no turning back time. You can’t change what people know. You just have to remind them of what else they know—the person they know you are. You can’t do that from under your blankets holed up in a dark room all day. You’ll have Ryouma’s support. That must count for something.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

Drying her wet hands on a towel, Rinko turned back to him, again smiling that compassionate smile that filled Tezuka with hope he was unworthy of receiving. “Maybe, maybe not, but you’ll have it anyway,” she said.

Tezuka shook his head. It wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be. “What if the school board finds out? What if the police…”

“The thing about unwanted truths is that people will always prefer a plausible lie. No one will believe that you would be living with us under these circumstances. They’ll find their own explanations—rumor, misunderstanding… As long as we all stick to one story, nothing is going to happen to you—or to Nanjirou.”

“Ryuzaki-sensei…”

“Leave Sumire-san to me and don’t you worry. That old bag of bones is too stubborn to give in to a shock like this.”

The next thing Tezuka knew, he was rising as she approached, and then her arms were around him, holding him tight the way his mother had not done for many, many years. He hadn’t even known how much he needed such an embrace. Hesitant at first, he held her back, trying to convey his gratitude for the essential waiving of a debt that could never be repaid.

“When I came here, I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he confessed. “Then… Nanjirou wouldn’t let me leave-”  
   
“And don’t think I don’t know why,” Rinko whispered fiercely. “You can put that kind of thought right out of your thick head.”   
   
Tezuka nodded against her shoulder, only now finally believing that he was past that danger—because this woman’s forgiveness meant that he must forgive himself. He continued the statement he had begun. “I thought the world would end when you got home,” he breathed. “If not for me, then for Nanjirou. Maybe for us both. Still, he took me in. I guess he knew something I didn’t.”  
   
“Well, we have been married for as long as you’ve been alive,” she said with bitter humor, pulling back to give him a very wry look.  
   
Tezuka just gazed helplessly at her, suddenly noting that he was slightly taller. It was a strange thing to be as tall as an adult and still feel like such an ignorant child. “I don’t understand how you can accept any of it,” he tried, one last time—then realized that it was ungrateful of him to question her choice. “But that doesn’t matter,” he added. “All I can do is… to be better. I’ll find a new place for myself as soon as I can. In the meantime… I swear to respect you—and Ryouma—and to put whatever it was Nanjirou and I had behind us.”  
   
“Maybe this is a strange thing to say under the circumstances,” Rinko sighed, “But you don’t have to be in such a hurry to grow up. stay here until you’re ready. Let me—and Nanjirou—take care of you while you’re still… Oh, I don’t know. Yes, young. Don’t get all petulant about it, you are, so hang on to it while you still can.” Finally, Rinko let him go and handed him his tea to drink. “Now, let's make a list of things you need to be comfortable.”   
   
*  
   
Oishi had been relieved, if a little baffled, by the improvement in Ryouma’s mood. At least, until one of Fuji’s muttered comments finally hit the mark and a rogue ball just happened to ricochet off the chain link and nearly leave a dent in the tensai’s face. Ryouma was certain his reflexes were quick enough to dodge it, but he just stood there and let a furiously roaring Kawamura absorb the blow instead.  
   
Suddenly, all three of them were doing laps. Ryouma had no idea what happened but soon enough Kaidoh and Momo were running with them. Then Kikumaru and several non-regulars. Only Inui and Kachirou were spared in the end.  
   
When they all slunk back to the club room, Oishi was there, curled around his knees in the corner looking sullen. Kikumaru was on him in seconds.  
   
Ryouma didn’t care. He sank onto a bench and tipped his head back against the wall.  
   
“I was out of line.”  
   
The dull, quiet voice at his side belonged to his ex. Ryouma rolled his head just a little to see Fuji mirroring him and looking right back at him.  
   
“I miss you.”  
   
“You seem to be doing well enough for yourself,” Ryouma retorted, flashing his eyes toward Kawamura and then returning them with a pointed stare.  
   
“You were angry because you thought I was lying or making things up. I wasn’t. It doesn’t have to be over.”  
   
“Yes. It does.”  
   
“Ryoum-”  
   
“He made a mistake. A big, horrible, irreversible mistake. But at least he realizes it. You just keep trying to make this all about yourself and you’re making it worse. Just back off.”  
   
“Echizen! Hurry up, I’m hungry!” Momo complained from across the room.  
   
Ryouma appreciated his sempais accompanying him, he really did. He just wasn’t sure he liked the way a clear line was starting to form down the middle of the team. Ryouma on one side, surrounded and supported by Momo, Kikumaru, and Oishi. Fuji on the other, backed up by Kawamura with Kaidoh and Inui in his court. It wasn’t that there was any hostility between the two groups—except for Ryouma and Fuji, of course—it just bothered him that such groups even existed where there had always been solidarity before. They needed Tezuka—but they needed him back whole and strong, not the shell Ryouma had left passed out on his bed.  
   
All at once, Ryouma realized that he was one of very few people who had the power to make or break Tezuka now. He wore that burden heavily as he trudged through the front gate.  
   
His dad was waiting at the foot of the stairs—upside down with his legs elevated. “Yo, shortstuff.”  
   
Ryouma listened out but didn’t hear anything. “Where is everyone?” he asked.  
   
“Your mum took Tezuka out to buy some things.”  
   
“Tezuka? Is that what you call him when you’re alone?” Ryouma asked coldly. He just couldn’t help it. This man really pushed all his buttons in just the right way so that everything felt wrong.  
   
“Ryouma.” Nanjirou righted himself but still effectively blocked the stairs so Ryouma was forced to stand there glaring at him and dreaming of the solace of his room. “I’m sorry you’re angry.”  
   
That didn’t even merit a response.  
   
“It doesn’t really change much, I guess, but… I didn’t know how you felt about him,” sighed Nanjirou, suddenly aging a few more years. “When I told your mum-”  
   
“As if you did!”  
   
“Of course I did. She knows everything. Anyway, she pointed out that you’ve had a thing for Tezuka ever since we moved back to Japan. I thought you and Fuji were serious. I had no idea-”  
   
“You’re right. It doesn’t change a thing—because you still would have done it anyway, wouldn’t you?”  
   
“You hate me. That’s fair. But you forgave Tezuka… I heard it. That takes a lot of balls—and maybe more than a little love. I know you don’t want to hear it, but we both feel the same about him, so maybe you can understand just a little why I lost my way.”  
   
“Is it over?”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“For real?”  
   
“Of course.”  
   
“If you really told her, why aren’t you dead under mum’s tires?”  
   
The question caught Nanjirou off guard. He shrugged. “As easily as she accepted you and Fuji, didn’t you ever wonder why she never questioned it?”  
   
“What’s that got to do with anything?”  
   
“Rinko isn’t the kind of woman who worries about how people should be. She accepts them for who they are—just like she accepts your sexuality, like she is accepting Tezuka… and like she has always accepted me.”  
   
Ryouma frowned. He'd expected fireworks and explosions, not sleep-ins and shopping trips. Maybe he could see the truth of his dad's if put just the right way—after all, she was somehow still married to him—but this was really too much. Was Nanjirou saying she would just let this all go? That she would just accept it? That was ridiculous. “So what’s stopping you, then? Mum doesn’t care and Tezuka’s living with us now, so why not just go on-”  
   
“Son, of course she cares. Of course she’s hurt. She’s dealing with that in her own way. All I can do now is try not to cause her—and you—any more pain.”  
   
That was the last straw. Ryouma wanted to kick him. He almost did. “If you can do that now, why didn’t you do it in the first place!?” he shouted in frustration.  
   
“You’re right,” Nanjirou said quietly. “I’m still weak-willed and driven by my desires… but one thing is different.” So much sadness in those dark brown eyes. “Tezuka’s changed. He won’t let me hurt either of you again. So it’s over. For good.”  
   
More than anything, Ryouma hated the tug at his heartstrings generated by the forlorn expression his dad wore as he stood and cleared the stairway, watching Ryouma ascend. He didn’t get to be heartbroken. That just wasn’t fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me forever to finally write this chapter because I just never imagined it would turn out this way. lol My morals got in the way and started trying to make this story a better reflection of what should and shouldn't go on in the real world and thus I was at a road block as to how to proceed with the inevitable introduction of Rinko. Thankfully, she worked with me over the last couple of days and thus Wild Card is updated at last, and what a wild card this was.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life gave Ryouma lemons...
> 
> So I made him lemonade.

It was quiet around the dinner table. Nanako was silently fuming at being left out of the loop (with next-to-no explanation for Kunimitsu’s presence or the tension in the house), Ryouma was focused solely on his food, Nanjirou was uncommonly sheepish, and Kunimitsu seemed surprisingly peaceful. Rinko could only guess at the torturous fear that had been consuming him until he received her absolution.

That was something even Nanjirou didn't understand―not really. Life was so short, so complicated, and so full of sadness. Rinko was one of very few women she knew who was blessed to have married the man of her choice. Back then, she had worshiped Nanjirou. She had known his preferences and loved that part of him, too, because it was a part of who he was. Ryouma was an even greater blessing, and one that had altered their relationship to something warmer and in many ways, closer.

When another son had appeared, Rinko was hardly surprised. She admired Nanjirou's commitment and compassion. When Ryouga was taken away from them, she was as disappointed to see the boy go as her husband, and tiny little Ryouma.

Ever since, she had known her family might grow suddenly and unexpectedly at any time. Even so, that Nanjirou had never cheated with a woman she was sure of. That he had not cheated at all until Tezuka was a fact she was secretly surprised to learn during her husband's distressed confession.

Now here they were―both her husband and her son enraptured by the same remarkable young man. In some ways, he reminded her of Ryouga―not that she would ever say as much to Nanjirou, it would mortify him. (Maybe he could stand to suffer a little mortification...) Still, all that talent, that bright mind... Without her acceptance, all of it would go to ruin. So her family grew, as she had always known it would.

There were fears, of course, and even some jealousies. Would Nanjirou find some reservoir of self-control, or would her reaction only encourage him? Would Ryouma have to suffer the heartache of being so close to the one he wanted and so distant all at once? Would something develop there? If it did, what would that do to Nanjirou? How were they going to explain this? Would Kunimitsu's mother be a problem? Would Kunimitsu wind up with some relative who didn't know what to do with his potential?

Most of this must be discreetly handled between Rinko and Nanjirou―but Ryouma would have his part to play, too. Kunimitsu would certainly not be spared.

"Make sure you're in bed early tonight, boys. No more skipping school or practice."

"Of course," Kunimitsu responded dutifully.

"Fine," Ryouma sighed, no doubt dreading the coming complications of the morning.

He was going to need a little pep talk.

*

Ryouma hadn't said a word to Tezuka all evening but it wasn't his intention to give his captain the silent treatment, he just didn't know what to say. Tezuka didn't try to talk to him either, so after dinner they went their separate ways, both retreating to their rooms to avoid any further awkwardness.

A knock on his door caused him to announce that he was studying, and then he scrabbled for the half-assed stack of notes Horio had given him at practice.

"Miracles never cease," said his mother dryly, slipping into the room and clicking the door shut behind her. She sat cautiously on the edge of his bed and gave him a look that was hard to ignore. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Ryouma responded tersely to the idiotic question.

Rinko raised her eyebrows, nodding at the notes in Ryouma's hands... which were upside down.

He shrugged, irritated with the error. "So I wasn't studying," he muttered.

"No, you were sulking."

"I wasn't s-!" He halted, glaring, even though he felt terrible for turning his anger on his mother who was the least deserving of it. He put a lid on the burst of temper. "Why not? I deserve that much."

"No, dear, you deserve much better than that," Rinko assured him. "I'm sorry you've been put in this position."

"What good does it do for you to apologize?" he snapped, immediately softening when he once again realized his mistake. "I don't get it," he whined, hating himself for it. "Dad said he told you everything, but he can't have!"

"Well, maybe not absolutely everything. It's probably better that way," Rinko sighed, showing rare signs of discomfort as her eyes wandered away from Ryouma in avoidance. "But he told me about the affair," she said, soberly. "And he made clear how he feels."

"I don't understand how you can be so calm."

"I don't expect you to―not you, nor Kunimitsu, nor Nanjirou. I'm the only one who can make this choice for myself so I ask you to respect it."

Ryouma thought on that. He had been so sure his mother would be devastated when she learned what her husband had been up to. Why? Because that was how wives were supposed to react when husbands did things like this? Because he was angry and upset and wanted her to be, too? In truth, he felt betrayed somehow by her lack of the same instinct. That sense of betrayal made her request difficult. He wanted to question everything. Yet here she was, asking him with dignity to mind his own business. 

This was his business, though. If she chose to let Tezuka and Nanjirou off the hook, that was one thing, but Ryouma was entitled to make his own decision, too.

So he tried the opposite and found he couldn't hate Tezuka... and strangely enough, he couldn't really hate Nanjirou either. He was just hurt, and tired of feeling that way and seeing no way out. Every time he watched the two of them interact, it was like he was missing out on something special―something he wanted to be the one to have with Tezuka. Now, his mum...

"Why do you call him that?"

"Kunimitsu?"

"Even..." Ryouma grimaced. "Dad calls him Tezuka." 

Rinko nodded slowly and thoughtfully and considered her answer before replying. "I don't want him to feel like an outsider in this house. It's what he needs―and maybe I do too, to forgive, so we can deal with the bigger issue."

"What are you talking about?"

"You men!" she sighed in a gush of exasperation. "You're all caught up in the tawdry scandal, aren't you? This isn't about the affair, Ryouma. Kunimitsu wouldn't be here if it was."

"His mum-"

"Abandoned him when he needed her most! Your team, his peers... and you most of all... He can't confide in anyone. He has no-one to talk to, no-one to comfort him or tell him it will be alright―no-one except the one person he should be distancing himself from. He must feel so isolated. If Nanjirou had turned him away..." She trailed off, shaking her head and biting her lip. She couldn't say it. She didn't need to.

"I know," Ryouma whispered.

"His life is on the line. I don't want to see his future ruined over this."

"Some people would."

Rinko recovered a little of her resilience at that and glanced at Ryouma side-on. "Luckily, I'm not one of them," she said with a hint of humor. Then, she turned her whole body to face him and planted her hands on the bed with a thud to emphasize the seriousness of the topic. "Ryouma, can you imagine if I ever did to you what his mother has done to him?"

Ryouma's knees curled up to his chest and he wrapped his arms around them. "I'd never give you reason."

"Do you think he deserves it then? Think about it. If I had gotten so upset over your dating Syusuke-kun that I-"

"Fuji's not married." His chin sunk to his knees.

"You think that's what Junko Tezuka cares about? Syusuke is male, and older-"

"Barely." His shoulders hunched.

"Your coach back in America, then. Alexi. Say you somehow got involved-"

"Ew! No!" The self-defensive cocoon spun by the discomforting direction of Rinko's words shattered as he jolted upright. 

"Fine, then imagine coach Tezuka, ten years older. Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't feel the same way about him no matter what the age difference." Ryouma felt like a deer in the headlights. Not only was he shocked that his mother knew about his feelings for Tezuka, but he was also a little dumstruck by that image. A little taller, maybe a little more muscle... a five o'clock shadow... It was worth exploring. "Ahuh. There it is."

Ryouma cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "He still wouldn't be married."

"What if he was?" Rinko waited until she had his line of sight again. "And what if you knew that but you felt so strongly that it just didn't stop you? And what if all that mattered to me was that you were having sex―and don't think I don't know what you and Syusuke get up to. So sex. With another male. A man, even. Would you deserve to be tossed out into the night with nothing and no-one? Would I be justified then?"

Ryouma shook his head. He hadn't really thought about it, to be honest. He'd expected Tezuka would just go home one day soon and that things with his mum would sort themselves out. He'd thought about it in the way one considers someone who's run away from home, or a fight between close friends that's bound to be resolved eventually... Something bad but temporary. The way his mum put it...

Abandoned. By his own mother. Worse; thrown to the wolves. She hadn't even tried to find him or speak to him. She'd been reluctant even to let Oishi pick up some of his things. Did she have any idea where he was or how he was survivng without her shelter and support?

"Kunimitsu lives with us now," Rinko said suddenly, with finality. "Any number of things may happen but I won't let any teenager go back to a home where he is not cared for, not when there's something I can do about it."

Ryouma nodded, then rested his chin on his knees again. "Mum... We broke up."

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry. With everything else... Are you ok?"

This time, he didn't dodge the question. This time, she wasn't asking in regards to what was going on at home. This time, Ryouma realized he wasn't OK because for all the irregularity of their relationship, Fuji had been his boyfriend and they'd been good together. Ryouma was surprised to learn it actually hurt to end it.

"He's been acting like everything is about him. Like Tezuka did this to hurt him. It's his fault Tezuka's mum found out―and me... and everone, really. You know they already put a stop to it, right? If it wasn't for Fuji..."

"I'm sure he thought he was doing the right thing. Syusuke is a very clever boy. He sees things others his age wouldn't recognize. If you believe he cares about Kunimitsu then maybe you should give him a chance to be forgiven, too."

"You mean, get back together?"

"Only if that's what you want."

Ryouma just shook his head.

"Then to be friends. I think all of you need friends right now."

*

Tezuka started at a knock on his door. He'd been thinking about school and trying to visualize the best-case scenario. It kept deteriorating into bleak outcomes.

He cleared his throat and sat up. "Come in."

"Buchou..."

What a blessing it was for Ryouma to call him that again.

"Do you want to play some tennis before bed?"

Why did that hurt so much? No, not the kind of pain that cripples, but that unique pain of healing that constricts, numbs, and then spreads in ripples, leaving relief in its wake.

"I would like that," he said, fully aware of the pathetically obvious gratitude in his voice. "Thank you."

One thing Tezuka hadn't considered was that he hadn't been out to the temple court since he and Nanjirou had first capitulated to their desires. He was mildly surprised by how little the sight of it affected him. The memories were fresh enough―the remembered sting of scratches lacing his back from rough stone―but there was no sentiment in it.

Thankfully, Ryouma didn't question his loaded pause, urging him to hurry up. They warmed up with some light hits and little by little, Tezuka's instinct for leadership took over. He began instructing Ryouma, setting drills and challenges. When the brat goaded him to use zero-shiki, he did so without hesitation, confident in its invulnerability―and his. 

The reminder of confidence was good for him. It reinforced his sense of duty and the knowledge of his capability. He could do this.

No weakness, no apologies. Tomorrow, he would go to Seigaku and lead.

*

Bright and early, Ryouma walked to school with Tezuka, enjoying the nice weather and warm mood. Training together had been a good idea. He got to see the Tezuka he’d fallen for come back out of his shell and they were both sufficiently tuckered out to sleep the night through. Tezuka had to be nervous, of that there was no doubt, but he was projecting an aura of calm and Ryouma wasn’t about to call him out on it.

He’d messaged Oishi the previous night to let the vice captain know Tezuka would be back the next day. Oishi hadn’t replied, but a very ecstatic smiley had come from Kikumaru so Ryouma was pretty sure the notification had been received.

Perhaps that was why—as early as he and Tezuka were—the whole team was gathered and waiting on the court before they even made it to the locker room. The collective stood at Tezuka’s arrival and waited for him to drop his things off and return, Momo tilting his head to gesture Echizen to his side among the front line ranks of the regulars in order of seniority. He shuffled over and pulled the brim of his cap down over his eyes to hide his uncertain expression.

Was this a mutiny? An intervention? Should he be standing by Tezuka’s side for support, instead?

Oishi stepped forward. “Welcome back, Captain,” he said, formally. “We’ve been waiting.” 

Tezuka cleared his throat and the light reflected off his glasses, hiding a brief shimmer of strong emotion. For just one moment, Ryouma expected them all to be dosed with laps for witnessing it. Then, Tezuka lifted his chin.

“First years, get started on racket drills. Second years, today I want you to focus on doubles practice. Take turns watching and analyzing each others’ formations. Regulars, I understand Inui has been running you through an obstacle course. Continue.”

“Tezuka, there’s a lane for you-”

“I have laps to run,” Tezuka announced. “I’m out of shape.” 

Ryouma couldn’t resist a smirk. A few days off from rigorous practice was hardly enough to affect Tezuka’s flawless physique and they all knew it. He was showing them that he wasn’t above the rules, and punishing himself for the missed practices. That was the Tezuka that Ryouma admired—the Tezuka they all admired.

Just like that, everything went back to normal. Well, on the surface, anyway. The non-regulars had somehow been shielded from rumor and a second-year homeroom teacher who had played tennis in college was filling in for Ryuzaki-sensei at Oishi’s request. Those who had been skipping practice due to lack of motivation didn’t dare do so with Tezuka back and on the prowl for and signs of slack. 

The rift was still there, though. Kaidou and Momo were even more aggressive than usual but in an oddly silent way that raised Ryouma’s hackles. Kikumaru and Fuji were so overly polite it made him want to be sick. Inui and Oishi couldn’t seem to agree on what was the right regimen for which player. Kawamura simply spent a lot of time staring thoughtfully at either Ryouma, Fuji, or sometimes even Tezuka. As for Ryouma and Fuji… The tensai was straight up ignoring him and that cut deep.

After the third time Fuji hit a lazy serve into the opposing court during afternoon practice and Ryouma smashed it past him without so much as causing him to blink, the younger boy found himself fighting down a rising pressure in his throat and behind his eyes. He hadn’t done anything wrong to be treated like this.

He was about to finally break the tentative illusion of normality and shout at Fuji to get his shit together when a solid hand landed on his shoulder. He blinked up at Tezuka, whose expression was somehow both wooden and supportive all at once. 

Ryouma bunted the ball in his hand into the basket and walked away. Let Inui assign someone else to partner Fuji. 

So the week continued. Miraculously, tensions at home were mild and the atmosphere more supportive than he could have imagined while things at school balanced on a knife edge. The team was together again and that was great but… they weren’t ok. Far from it.

Both Tezuka and Ryouma looked forward to going home, where they would head up to the temple and hit out their frustrations without having to conceal anything. It felt good. To Ryouma… it felt really good. To be able to spend time alone with Tezuka like this was something he had never expected. Even with circumstances as they were, he couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Tezuka confided in him, too. When they sat in the dirt beside the court and sipped juice poppers under the stars, the captain began telling him all sorts of things. It started out with his thoughts and hurts during the day and developed into musings on the constellations, or the effects of music on athletes, or his favorite cafe in Germany and the strange habits of the people there.

He started asking Ryouma more and more questions about living overseas until he finally confessed that he was considering moving back to Germany in the future. He was coming to realize how much tennis truly meant to him and that there was nothing tying him to Japan, or to school for that matter…

“I’ll miss you,” Ryouma whispered one night, at last saying out loud the words that rang in his head every time Tezuka talked about moving away. 

He’d expected some kind of condescending acknowledgement but instead, Tezuka looked at him fondly and said, “I’ll miss you, too.” 

That was when it hit him. Tezuka wasn’t talking about years from now… Moving to Germany was his idea of a solution to losing his home and family. Ryouma wanted to scream the obvious—that Tezuka didn’t have to go away, that he was loved and valued by his new family… that he was loved and valued by Ryouma.

How the urge to scream turned into his lips on Tezuka’s, he couldn’t begin to fathom. Yet there they were.

Belatedly, Ryouma froze with fear. What was wrong with him? Tezuka didn’t want him, he was in love with Nanjirou. There was no way…

Strong arms came up around him and circled his lithe frame, pulling him closer as Tezuka’s nose tilted to the left, his lips angling to better mesh with Ryouma’s. 

For twenty whole seconds, Ryouma’s world was bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you thought my opening note hinted at a lemon. lol 
> 
> In retrospect... I think working on Wild Card at the same time as Mikasa (a sweet Tezu/Ryou fic where Tezuka is staying with the Echizens for a week) is a dangerous idea. ^_^; 
> 
> Actually, I'd always imagined something like this might happen... I just never thought I'd go through with it! lol I should know myself better by now.


	10. Chapter 10

Words like “guilt” and “regret” did not even begin to express what Tezuka felt immediately after parting lips with Ryouma. He fought every instinct in himself in order to keep those feelings from showing. Ryouma didn’t deserve them.  
   
The truth was, he also felt a surge of happiness in that kiss, and that was why he knew he was truly in trouble. Did he actually have feelings for Ryouma? Or was he being influenced by gratitude for the care and support he was in such dire need of? Either way was dangerous.  
   
A part of him wanted to rationalize that it wasn’t completely crazy to fall for both father and son. Most of him scoffed that this father and son were about as alike as bananas and broccoli. When it hit Ryouma that his father had been the last person to taste Tezuka’s lips, he was going to freak out.   
   
Worse, if Tezuka really was being swayed by something other than pure attraction, it wouldn’t be long before that became apparent and Ryouma would only be hurt. Again.   
   
Of course, it was too late to realize all of this after the fact so Tezuka endeavored to save thought for later when Ryouma wasn’t sitting on top of him, waiting for some kind of reaction. Touching the boy’s cheek, Tezuka wondered what it meant that he wanted to lean in for another kiss. Did he have feelings for Ryouma after all? Was he just trying to avoid the issue altogether by hiding behind physicality?  
   
He closed his eyes, remembering the promise he had made to Rinko. “That was a lovely kiss,” he whispered, then opened his eyes to impart the importance of his next words without doubt. “But I gave my word that I would respect you and your mother.”  
   
Ryouma leaned back into an awkward crouch, putting some space between their bodies. He seemed to be thinking deeply. “What does that mean?” he finally asked.  
   
“It means… I have to end this here and now,” Tezuka tried to explain.      
   
Slowly, Ryouma stood. Looming over Tezuka, he struggled between the compulsion to speak and the wisdom to stop himself.  
   
“Do you know what sucks the most about all of this? It turns out I’m just as selfish as my dad,” he said in a harsh whisper that betrayed strong emotion. “I just keep thinking it’s his fault that you’ll never be interested in a kid like me.”  
   
“That’s not-”  
   
“Don’t. This is on me. I shouldn’t have been such an idiot. I just… For just a little while, I was almost glad all this happened. I got to have you to myself. Just for a little while.”  
   
*  
   
Ryouma woke obscenely early and made his escape, heading down to the river before practice. He was ok. He had that one kiss to cherish and that was more than he'd expected. It was enough.  
   
He was avoiding Tezuka out of guilt of his own. Kissing Tezuka had been selfish enough. Hoping for more and then dropping that spoiled hope right in Tezuka's lap... It wasn't fair.   
   
At practice, he tried to pretend everything was normal but Fuji was sharp as a blade. He spotted Ryouma's weakness and went for it without hesitation.  
   
“That's why Yuuta moved out, you know. Being compared all the time to an older-”  
   
“Sexier?”  
   
“Wiser.”  
   
“Alluring.”   
   
“…version-” The tensai chuckled, mid-sentence, belatedly responding to Kawamura's murmured flattery. “-of oneself all the time…” He brushed past Ryouma on his way to the ball bins, not even trying to keep his voice down. “I bet the size difference really kills the deal.”  
   
“Wait, you think he's banging them both?” Kawamura gasped, spinning, noticing Ryouma a moment too late, and subsequently turning bright red.  
   
Fuji bumped Ryouma with his hip on the way back to the mortified gentle giant. “Sorry to kill your boner, Taka, but would you choose the foal over the stallion?”  
   
It was too much. One last drop of fouled water in a large basin that sent ripples trickling over the edge.  
   
The trembling started in his fingers. His racket slid from his grip and clattered to the ground. His arms shuddered, and then a tremor wracked his body and shoulders. He tried to still it and almost bit through his lip.  
   
He felt everyone's eyes on him and he could imagine what they were thinking. Pity, embarrassment on his behalf, judgment of one sort or another... He took a few steps but he couldn't see with his eyes closed. He stopped, blinked, and then the world shimmered through huge fat tears that spilled down his cheeks. A moment later, he was running.  
   
*  
   
All week, Tezuka had been so focused on maintaining his aura of strength and authority, he hadn’t any room left for resentment or anger. In truth, he was just avoiding dealing with Fuji at all where possible. However, as Ryouma’s racket fell from trembling fingers, every iota of misfortune Fuji had brought down upon them burned through his mind and Tezuka was filled with a kind of rage he’d never felt before. He was immobilized with it as Ryouma ran a few steps, stumbled, and then pelted from the courts.   
   
Tezuka, too, hesitated, just long enough for his stare to burn into Fuji like a laser. Meeting the tensai’s eyes with a promise of retribution, he thrust the clipboard into Inui’s chest―harder than strictly necessary―and then strode off without another word, in pursuit of the wounded rookie.  
   
Fuji, he would deal with later. First, he had to account for his own mistakes.  
   
He found Ryouma behind the gym, choking with barely suppressed tears that spoke volumes of the stress the poor rookie was crumbling under.  
   
Ryouma saw him coming and bit back his distress. “It’s fine,” he said, voice cracking all the way. “You don’t have to-”  
   
“Shhh.” Tezuka approached him determinedly and pulled him into a close hug, sending his cap tumbling and holding the back of his head. “Ryouma, listen to me. I should have made myself clearer last night.” There was only one way to go forward as friends, or as anything else, for that matter. Complete and total honesty. “I swore to do better by you, and the last thing I want is to break your heart, not any more than I already have. I can't promise what I'm not sure of―but I do care for you,” Tezuka explained. “The truth is, I don’t know for sure how I feel and I'm afraid I might be attracted to you for the wrong reasons.”    
   
“Like what?” Ryouma mumbled into Tezuka’s chest. “Because I remind you of my dad?”  
   
Only because Ryouma couldn’t see him did Tezuka allow himself to grin at that adorably naive question. “No. That's one thing I'd never dare accuse you of. No. The truth is, I owe you an incredible debt of gratitude,” he breathed. “Right now, you're my lifeline. If it wasn't for the way you and Rinko have treated me... You could have seen me thrown right back out into the rain. You had that right. But as hard as it was for you, you allowed me shelter... and then you entrusted me with your friendship. Even if you never forgive me-”  
   
“I already have, stupid.”  
   
“All the more.” Tezuka held him tighter, taking a shaky breath as gratitude overwhelmed him. “You gave me reason to believe I can atone and I love you for it.” He gulped down his rising feelings. What was important right now was that Ryouma understand. “I just... don't know for sure what kind of love and until I do... I won't risk hurting you again. I'm sorry.”  
   
Ryouma shook his head, his forehead sliding back and forth across Tezuka's shirt, embraced as he was. “Buchou… I’m the one who should apologize. I shouldn’t have kissed you. That wasn’t fair.” With a little push, Ryouma propelled himself out of Tezuka's arms, tilting his neck back to look up into slightly foggy lenses. “This isn’t about you,” he said. “It’s about Fuji. He’s…”   
   
Tezuka shook his head. “That’s my fault, too-”   
   
“No, it’s not,” Ryouma insisted, his expression blackening. “It’s his. He's turning the whole team against itself! He ruined your life! He-”  
   
“The one thing I can't forgive is that he's punishing you for my mistakes,” Tezuka countered. “The team... That's my fault, too, and I'll fix it. In the meantime... please; tell me what I can do to help you get through this.”  
   
Ryouma's expression wavered for so long, Tezuka thought maybe he was beginning to malfunction. At last, the rookie stepped forward, gripping the front of Tezuka's shirt in his tiny hands. His face was blotchy red with the aftermath of tears and his eyes wavered with vulnerability.  
   
“Kiss me,” he said.  
   
“Ryouma-”  
   
“That's all. Just one kiss. Then you can think about what it means to you... and I'll think about what it means to me.”  
   
It was a compelling argument. Tezuka stayed very still so that his slightest movement wouldn't be misinterpreted as yay or nay. His logic center whirled with counter-arguments and barbs of common sense.  
   
“What if we could have been together if it weren't for my dad? What if you'll never be able to see me for who I am instead of my dad's son―or worse, a little brother? I can't stop thinking it's all his fault you'll never love me. Maybe all I get is one true kiss that I'll hold onto for the rest of my life. Maybe... you'll find an answer, and maybe it'll even be one I'll like. All I ask is that you give me that chance.”  
   
“I don't know if I'll ever find an answer, Ryouma,” Tezuka whispered, his words ringing with a pang of truth. “But we both need that chance,” he capitulated, gently curling his fingers about Ryouma's small waist and exerting a light pressure to bring the boy closer. Slowly, he leaned down, tilting his head until he felt the soft contact of Ryouma's lips which closed and pursed, then parted and pulled him in for more until their tongues wrapped around each other and they struggled to find room to breathe.  
   
*  
   
Fuji was waiting for Tezuka at the far end of the courts. Taka-san had agreed to stall Ryouma after the captain locked up to apologize for his comments that morning. Tezuka went on ahead―strolling right into Fuji's trap.  
   
“I saw you,” he announced. “Behind the gym. Do you even know how wrong that is? Or are you actually completely clueless?”  
   
When Kaidou's disapproving hiss, Inui's searching look, and Taka-san's betrayed expression alerted Fuji that he had gone too far yet again, he felt blinded. This wasn't who he was. Somewhere along the way, he had lost sight of himself.  
   
He fell into a bow, silently apologizing until the weight that oppressed him wasn't an intangible burden but Eiji's arm around his back. He wanted to shrug it off out of fear of being held down but he knew he had one chance to regain the trust and friendship of all of his team.   
   
“Go on,” Eiji urged.  
   
Fuji responded. With full intent to prostrate himself and beg forgiveness for everything, he tracked down captain and rookie until he found them at last. Just as he drew breath to voice his regret, the impossible occurred right before his eyes.  
   
At afternoon practice, the team was curious but silent. They had gotten very adept at carrying on professionally no matter what the day may bring.  
   
Fuji told Taka-san only that he had not been able to find his quarry before class and that he wished to approach them separately, starting with his captain and one-time best friend.  
   
“Do I have to spell it out for you?” he gasped, disturbed by Tezuka’s complete lack of response to his revelation. “You can’t just do whatever and whoever you want! Whatever is going on in that household… it has to stop. Now.”  
   
A small, disturbing smile curled Tezuka’s lips. Just for a moment. Then it receded and the Tezuka Fuji knew was back. “Nothing’s going on,” he said softly, and dodged around Fuji, walking on. “That kiss is between me and Ryouma, and no-one else.”  
   
“You don’t get to just brush me off like that!” Fuji moaned, watching that straight, proud back walk away from him. His eyes filled with tears. “I made mistakes, Tezuka, but I’m not the one breaking laws and coming between entire families!”  
   
“No?”  
   
The growl in that word was frightening.   
   
“That was an accident!” Fuji shouted, hurrying to keep up with Tezuka’s long stride that was always a step ahead. “I didn’t mean for her to hear! I wouldn’t do that to you!”  
   
“Except that you did,” Tezuka countered. “What’s done is done.”  
   
“Why?” Fuji’s feet came to a stop, forcing Tezuka to halt and face him or else walk away from that broken, desperate question. “...Tezuka, why am I not good enough for you? First that lecherous old man, and now Ryouma? Why am I the only one you don't want?”  
   
“It's not like that, Fuji-”  
   
“Obviously it is!” Fuji cried, trying to wipe his face clear of tears but only producing more with every blink.  
   
 “You were my friend-”  
   
Damn him for sounding so lost. Damn him for sounding so agonized.  
   
“Maybe if I wasn't so in love with you, _that_ wouldn't hurt as much,” Fuji whispered hollowly.  
   
“Fuji... Would you rather I pretended?” Tezuka asked helplessly.  
   
“No,” Fuji snapped bitterly. “I'd rather you truly cared for me.”  
   
“I do, just not…"  
   
“Enough.”  
   
“...Just not like that.”  
   
“And Ryouma?”  
   
Tezuka closed his eyes and took a slow, calming breath. “I don't know,” he confessed. “Look, I get it.” He took a step back toward Fuji, making an effort to close the distance both literally and figuratively. “I messed up. I let you down―I let everybody down—but I'm trying to fix things.”  
   
“How?” Fuji's howl turned heads, causing some students to hurry on by and others to slow and listen in. He glanced around at them, then dragged Tezuka through the front gate and off to the side of the walkway. “By seducing the son of the man you had an affair with!?” he hissed as they walked.  
   
“That's not what happened!” Tezuka hissed back. “Why do you always jump to the worst possible conclusion!?”  
   
“If you would just tell me the truth for once, I wouldn't have to!”  
   
Fuji's barb lost its potency when Tezuka's gazed drifted past him to the car pulling up at the curb. His face paled. “Mother.”  
   
The car stopped. Out got a haggard woman who seemed not to have slept in days. She walked around, opened the passenger side door, and held it ajar. “Get in the car, Kunimitsu.”  
   
*  
   
“Get in the car, Kunimitsu.”  
   
Tezuka shook his head in denial. “No.” His lips hardly managed to form even such a simple word.  
   
“Don't make me repeat myself.”  
   
Tezuka shook his head. A moment later, a crack struck his cheek and it was so loud and so painful he wondered if something might have cracked internally. His cheek stung more than the slap of plain skin could account for and he pulled his fingers away reddened with a dab of blood. Only when he realized how blurred his fingers were did he understand that his glasses had snapped at the hinge and fallen from his face. The broken arm had probably caused the shallow gash.  
   
“Stop it!” Fuji shrieked  
   
Tezuka flinched at the sound of another hit but he didn't feel anything. Belatedly, he saw that Fuji had jumped in front of him to take the blow.  
   
“Fuji-kun!” Only now did Junko's tone ring with guilt. “I'm sorry, but this is between me and my son. Please get out of my way.”  
   
“Buchou!”  
   
All the yelling brought more than a few people running and among them were Ryouma and Kawamura. It took Tezuka a moment to figure out what was wrong with the scene when the power player began yelling inarticulate English nonsense and flaring up with righteous anger. Kawamura wasn't holding a racket. Tezuka had never seen him like this without that trigger.  
   
Ryouma tugged on his arm. “Buchou, let's go home.”  
   
Looking down, Tezuka gave those words the consideration they deserved. Home. Not the house in which he had lived all of his life. Not the family that had reared and raised him. Home. Where Ryouma was. Where Nanjirou was. Where Rinko was. Home. where he was loved and accepted.  
   
He nodded. Unable to find appropriate words with which to respond. However, he couldn't leave yet.  
   
Junko was paralyzed with fear, what with Kawamura yelling in her face. Fuji slipped away from his side, taking Tezuka's other arm and starting to lead him and Ryouma in the opposite direction without a word.  
   
“Leave it to Taka-san,” he murmured.  
   
“This is my problem,” Tezuka argued.  
   
“I'm trying to fix things, too,” Fuji told him. 


	11. Chapter 11

“Oh! Syusuke! It's good to see you!”

“You, too, Rinko-chan,” charmed the tensai, in that disarming manner that caused adults to overlook the fact that they were being looked down upon by a minor.

Tezuka almost choked at the overly familiar greeting. Ryouma was sure he'd bought into the illusion of having been given special adult treatment. Granted, Fuji was special in his own, complicated way.

“Tezuka, what's wrong? Your face…”

“It's nothing. I had a run in with a bicycle. It shook me up.”

“He's lying,” Fuji chirped happily. "But don't worry, I'll fill you in.”

“Fuji-”

“You can't possibly think you can hide this,” Fuji sighed. “Go on upstairs with Ryouma. I'll explain. Someone has to.”

He was right, as Ryouma had reluctantly realized from the start, but that didn't stop him from begrudging the way Fuji went about rectifying the situation. He was about to speak up when Tezuka subtly reached out and squeezed his fingers—whether for Ryouma's sake or for his own encouragement, only the captain knew.

“...You're right. Rinko, I apologize. I just haven't quite... I don’t…”

“Boys,” said the woman of the house, flicking her gaze at both Fuji and Ryouma. “Go upstairs. Kunimitsu can join you soon.”

Throwing Fuji a dirty look, Ryouma squeezed Tezuka's fingers back and then stalked up the stairs, not waiting to see if his ex followed. Before long, they were alone in his room and he wished he had foreseen this happening so he could have avoided it.

“You-”

“This time, I didn't make any mistakes,” Fuji said in a quiet tone that silenced Ryouma none-the-less. “It's my fault Junko is acting the way she is. That's why I have to make sure the one person who can stand up to her knows there's a problem.”

Ryouma glared silently at him, unable to argue with the logic but wishing he could find a loophole. He sat in front of his bed and curled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. A moment later, Fuji sat beside him, as comfortably as if they were still dating.

“She knows,” guessed the tensai.

Ryouma rested his chin on his knees.

“I... Am I the only one?” Fuji breathed, his regular conviction suddenly absent. “I thought... I thought it was Tezuka who was out of his mind; Tezuka who was acting crazy but you, and Rinko even... you just accept it like... like it's normal-”

“It's not normal,” Ryouma rasped, clearing his throat. “It's just... What else can we do? Except hurt each other—hurt the people we care about... like you did. I don't want to do that. So I'll pretend it's ok until it is again. Mum probably feels the same way... Maybe. I don't really know what she's thinking.”

“I-Hang on.” Fuji dug into his pocket and raised his cell phone to his ear. “Taka-san? ...He’s fine. Just shaken. What about you? What happened? Sorry to leave you to deal with that... Good... Yeah, that sounds about right. Can I call you back later? Ok, take care.”

The calm, cool manner in which Fuji spoke might have reassured anyone who couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation but Kawamura’s yelling had come through loud and clear, leaving Ryouma a little wide-eyed with awe. He waited patiently for Fuji to explain.

The tensai sighed. “He’s furious. Taka-san can’t stand bullying of any sort. To see an adult hit his friends like that... From the sound of it, she bolted pretty fast. Not that Taka-san would ever hurt a fly, no matter how angry. But a cultured woman like that? All it takes is a bit of noise.”

Fuji's expression was so bitter it gave Ryouma pause. It wasn't that he didn't realize he was at fault, at all. He just hated that he was. He also hated Tezuka's mother for turning his careless mistake into a tragedy.

For the first time since this had all begun, Ryouma felt sorry for him. Fuji had lost a lot, too. “I wish…”

“Yeah. I wish that, too. Ryouma... I am sorry things got so much worse because of how I reacted. If I'd just kept this between Tezuka and myself…”

As soon as he spoke those words, Ryouma's imagination ran away with a very likely scenario. “You would probably be blackmailing him into sleeping with you right about now,” he grumbled. The surprise that registered on Fuji's face was followed by a pinch of regret. “That wouldn't actually be better, you know,” Ryouma drawled, just for good measure.

Fuji took the honest reproach as teasing. “You don't know that. I might have cut you in on the deal! It could have been fun!”

Looking up at blue eyes softened with warmth, Ryouma felt tears welling up in him for a second time that day but he packed them down and buried them. Instead, he conceded a little weakness by tugging at Fuji's shirt and resting his face against a thin arm. He didn't say a word about how lonely he had been or how much he had missed the earthy scent and light cushioning of that human pillow. 

Fuji heard the confession anyway. “Yeah. Me too.”

*

Rinko pulled Tezuka into the kitchen and sat him down at the dining table, taking the seat across from him and folding her hands. “Now, what really happened?”

Tezuka met her gaze squarely, resolved not to retreat anymore. “Mother came for me,” he said. “After practice. She drove up and told me to get in the car. I refused.” Only on this last did his voice waver with a hint of uncertainty. He searched Rinko’s gaze for disapproval.

“That must have been hard for you,” Rinko said quietly. “But I think you did the right thing. Resolving this situation will take time and caution.”

“If I went with her…” Tezuka wasn’t sure how he wanted to finish that sentence. Did he state his fears? Did he admit he was afraid she might drive them both straight into a tree? Or did he confess that he knew what a burden it would lift for the Echizen household if he left—confess that he had chosen to stay without asking anyone’s permission or opinion? 

“I don’t believe that would have been in anyone’s best interests, Kunimitsu. Go on, tell me what happened,” she pressed.

Why did he feel so much shame? Looking down at the stained wooden surface of the table, Tezuka tried to reason through the irrational emotion. That his mother had hit him, publicly, in front of his friends and peers… That was her shame to bear, not his, and yet…

“She slapped me,” he whispered. 

“That must have been one hell of a slap,” Rinko commented, tight-lipped. 

“My glasses broke. The arm cut my cheek,” Tezuka explained.

Rinko’s lips trembled and she hesitated—not once, but three times—before finally expelling the confirmation she had tried to hold back. “She hit you that hard…”

Tezuka wanted to say it didn’t hurt, that it was just superficial, but he could still feel the ache of the impact. He hadn’t thought an open palm could feel so much like a closed fist.

“Fuji jumped in before she could hit me again… I think she held back from hurting him…” Tezuka was the one she had wanted to hurt. She must really have hated him, at least in that moment. “That was it. We left. Kawamura… I don’t know what happened after that but another of our team members remained.” 

“I see.” Rinko was clearly restraining herself from whatever she truly wanted to say and was saved by the noisy shuffle of her husband prying open the shoji doors out the back and shedding his clogs to go barefoot through the house. “Nanjirou!” she called. “Come here, will you?”

Peeking into the kitchen, the man in question looked suspiciously nervous, even to Tezuka. “It’s a misunderstanding!” he preempted, completely ignorant of what might be under discussion. 

Rolling her eyes at Tezuka, Rinko moved to the cupboards and began rummaging. “Take a look at Kunimitsu’s cheek for me. I think it’s just bruised but please check the bone just to be safe…”

“Hey... What’s this?” 

The concern in Nanjirou’s eyes stirred something in Tezuka that didn’t belong in that kitchen. He dropped his gaze. “It’s nothing.” 

“It’s not, but we’ll leave it at that,” said Rinko firmly. “Here.”

With practiced familiarity, Nanjirou caught first the cotton balls and then the disinfectant Rinko tossed him without looking. He stuck out his tongue at his wife’s back then winked at Tezuka as if they maintained some kind of childish conspiracy. 

Tezuka refrained from response; at a loss as to how to interact with this bizarre husband and wife. He held in a wince as Nanjirou pressed a disinfected cotton ball to his cheek, wiping away any beads of dried blood Tezuka had missed.

“Where are your glasses?”

“Broken,” Tezuka replied woodenly. “I shouldn’t have left them but I doubt they can be fixed.”

“Do you have a spare pair?”

It was so hard to keep his eyes away from Nanjirou’s face. His ex lover was so close, slowly feeling his way across Tezuka’s cheek bone for any small fractures. It hurt, but Tezuka agreed that the swelling must be simple bruising.

“They should be in the bag Oishi packed for me,” he said, clearing his throat and wishing Nanjirou would step away so his confusion might subside into something less overwhelming.

“But?”

This time it was Rinko who pressed, taking Nanjirou’s place and smearing a cooling cream on Tezuka’s cheek.

Now, he looked up, meeting her eyes. “They’re old, but they’ll be fine.”

He didn’t mention the fact that the prescription was out of date or that the thick frames made him look like a bug. Rinko would want to buy him new ones. She mustn’t have any reason to think he couldn’t make do. Tezuka was already so beholden to this family he would never be able to repay the debt.

*

Nanjirou had never been so grateful to his wife as in the last two weeks. She was so strong and so forgiving. The way she handled Tezuka… No-one would know she had reason to curse him. No-one would even suspect she had any doubts about taking the boy under her wing. 

Of course she did. Nanjirou might be a moron but he wasn’t an imbecile. Rinko was very quiet and thoughtful these days and smiled very little when she thought no-one was looking. She watched Ryouma with a contemplative expression and was falsely brave with Nanako. At night, she maintained a whole human’s worth of space between them in bed and kept her touches to a minimum if she handed him something or used her voice if she wanted his attention. They didn’t need to discuss that distance—it was well within Nanjirou’s expectations after what he had done. With Tezuka, though… there was no such tell, and for that Nanjirou was grateful. If Rinko showed the slightest hesitation, Tezuka would be gone in a moment.

He watched as she cheerfully ruffled the boy’s hair and he tilted his head at her like Karupin wondering why her mischief had earned her an affectionate reward. Even his confusion was beautiful…

Nothing had changed. Nanjirou still looked at Tezuka and saw a piece of his heart—and his passion still stirred without limitation. He would probably never be able to view Tezuka as anything but a lover—former, of course. Rinko would have him treat the boy like a second son, though. She was playing with fire, acting as if it was fine for them to be around each other like this; as if Nanjirou hadn’t had to fight the urge to kiss Tezuka’s swollen cheek at every turn of every moment. 

As if Nanjirou didn’t want to hunt down and wreak vengeance on the monster who had done this to his Tezuka.

*

Rinko smiled, holding out a hand. “Shall we check on Syusuke-kun?” 

It was with a complicated mix of feelings that Tezuka took the outreached hand, peripherally confirming that Nanjirou had already wandered out of the room. (When would he stop feeling so guilty all the time?) He couldn’t remember the last time he had held his mother’s hand and he was shy about any kind of physical contact. 

Rinko seemed to catch on to his discomfort, closing her free hand over their joined ones. “I’m not your mother,” she said. “But I am a mother, and also an adult who personally cares about your well being. I can’t help acting motherly but if it bothers you-”

“No. I’m just not used to this kind of… closeness.”

Rinko nodded, let go of his hand, touched his un-damaged cheek once, and then walked out of the kitchen. Following behind her, Tezuka smiled bemusedly at the happy feeling that welled within him. He didn’t deserve Rinko’s nurturing—but he was glad for it anyway.

*

Fuji didn’t know what to make of Tezuka’s inexplicable serenity. It simply didn’t make any sense to him that a person could be in Tezuka’s shoes right now and not be a complete mess. How could Rinko—of all people—have calmed him so much? In fact, how could she be so calm, herself? The Echizen household was beginning to feel like a baffling alternate universe in which none of the rules of engagement applied. 

“I’m fine,” Fuji insisted. “She barely touched me. Really.” He tried not to fidget under Rinko’s scrutiny of his face. Things were definitely less awkward when he and Ryouma were dating. “And don’t worry about Taka-san. He’s mad as hell but he said she left pretty quietly after we were gone.”

“Takashi… He’s that strapping power player, right? The son of the sushi chef?”

“That’s the one,” Fuji replied, unable to keep a hint of a purr from his voice. “If you’re ever seen him holding a racket… well, you can imagine what a fright it might be to have that temper turned on you, I’m sure.”

“Indeed,” Rinko agreed dryly. “Well then, as long as you boys are all ok, I’ll let you be. Will you be staying over, Syusuke-kun?”

“No,” replied all three team-mates at once.

“Well then, at least stay for dinner,” Rinko hummed, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. 

The silence stretched out longer than was probably considered healthy, until Fuji raised his head and met the eyes of the boy who had sat cross-legged in front of them both.

"Tezuka-"

"It's in the past," Tezuka cut in. "Whatever you plan to apologize for, I don't need to hear it. It won't do me any good."

"Maybe not," Fuji said flatly, "But I need to say it."

"Fine."

Fuji stood up, took a couple of steps forward, and then sank to his knees in front of Tezuka, bowing his head. He took a deep breath and searched through all of the words he had considered for so long. None of them were appropriate—nothing ever would be, so he had to start talking anyway.

"I betrayed you," he said quietly. "I reacted out of hurt and I consciously chose to betray you, even if I didn't think... But it was only the once! Tezuka, I'm so sorry your mother heard me. Not that I'm not sorry about... I'm sorry about it all. Even when I truly thought I was doing the right thing, I was wrong... And I've been cruel. I-"

"Fuji, stop." Tezuka sounded so tired. It choked Fuji up with tears all of a sudden. "I forgive you, ok? I don't want to lose you, too. So let's just put it behind us. In a way, I betrayed you, too, and I'm sorry."

Fuji was crying and hugging Tezuka when Ryouma slipped quietly from the room. Later, when they went down to dinner, they learned that he had put in a rare effort to help prepare dinner.

*

Strangely, dinner was more amiable for Fuji's presence. He was good at making conversation with the adults and glossing over awkward matters. Nanjirou asked him about his techniques and how he thought he might take them to the next step and they joked easily about secrets and having to kill people over them. Rinko inquired about Fuji's siblings to which Fuji gushed about Yuuta for a while, and Nanako asked for his recommendation of camera brands as she was thinking of upgrading. 

It gave Tezuka pause to realize how well Fuji blended into the Echizen household. Unlike himself, who had come in like a train off the rails and gotten stuck in the wall, just waiting for something to shake loose. Ryouma, too, fell into old habits with little hesitation. Tezuka caught him scoffing quietly at Fuji's stories about Yuuta and smiling around his utensils. It was the most relaxed he had seemed in some time.

As usual, Tezuka was the odd one out. He was determined to move forward, whatever it took; determined to reunite the team and re-establish his goals as best as possible. That didn't mean he could forget what Fuji had done, or that he could let go of the regret and the feeling that if only one thing had gone differently... If he could just change one all-important thing... Somehow, he could get his life back.

He knew that wasn't the case, though. He would simply have to fight on, and he was going to need every friend he had.

So when Rinko decided that Fuji should sleep over after all, and he was set up with a pallet in Tezuka's room (in consideration of the recent break-up), Tezuka accepted the turn of events. He resolved to shower, change, and sleep early to avoid conversation but it wasn't that easy. When he tried to sleep, he just kept remembering the fury and disappointment in his mother's eyes and remembering the blow to his cheek. By the time Fuji slipped into the room, tears were trickling silently into Tezuka's pillow. He tried to stifle them but let slip a sniffle.

Instead of commenting, Fuji settled his things and prepared his pallet, then ignored it in favor of Tezuka's. He lay down behind Tezuka and loosely draped his arm over Tezuka's side, cuddling up to him. If he could speak without betraying the fact that he was crying, Tezuka would have put a rather rude end to it. Instead, he lay there helpless to avoid the companionship Fuji offered.

"It's ok," Fuji said quietly. "You're not alone in this anymore. I know, Ryouma and his family have been here for you... but you need me. You need a friend who isn't part of this family."

In spite of himself, Tezuka snorted, huffing a breath in and out. His throat loosened as the flow of tears began to dwindle.

"I'm not. Not anymore. So I'll be there for you, instead. That's all I ever wanted anyway..."

When Fuji gently urged him onto his back, Tezuka allowed himself to be guided. He couldn't see much of anything in the dark without his glasses but he knew Fuji's face well enough to interpret what he could see of that earnest expression.

It was tempting, and that frightened him. For so long, he had staved off Fuji's advances only to wind up embroiled in scandal with Nanjirou. Now, he was trapped in complicated territory with Ryouma. To think that he could suddenly be so susceptible to Fuji this way... 

It didn't make sense to him. Not unless he was truly so lonely that he would be grateful for anyone's affections. No, not anyone... Someone he cared about. Someone who wasn't Nanjirou's son...

"I can't," he whispered. "It wouldn't be for the right reasons. It wouldn't be fair to you."

To his surprise, Fuji leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then departed to his own pallet. "Good night," he said cheerfully, as if nothing else had been said.

Only when Tezuka rolled back onto his side and stared off into the dark did he realize he'd wanted Fuji to argue and overpower him. He'd wanted to say he was trying to do the right thing but that the choice was out of his hands. He'd wanted the comfort and the relief. He'd wanted to stop thinking with his brain for a while and subsist on instinct.

Now, he simply felt guilty for that longing in place of the act itself. It was a lousy trade.


	12. Chapter 12

"It's not because he's older... It's not that he's my type... He just got under my skin."

It was early enough that the cheerful chirping of the birds outside the window seemed obscene. Fuji was awake, though, despite playing dead and waiting for Tezuka to rise. Instead, Tezuka just watched him until Fuji the traitor blurred into Fuji the comrade... Fuji the confidante. Then, with Fuji's desperate plea for the truth still ringing in his ears from yesterday, he started speaking.

"He threw me off balance. No-one's ever been able to do that... and... I guess, it woke me up. I stopped being able to ignore things—emotional desires and physical arousal. It started as respect and then it was awe, and then..." Tezuka closed his eyes, trying to wet the inside of his mouth. He hadn't had anything to drink yet so his throat was dry but he couldn't stop confessing now that he had begun. "It wasn't that I lost control, I just... gave it up. I didn't want it anymore. I was sick of always doing the right thing, of being the good boy, the model son, student, captain... everything. It wasn't that I didn't care, but I started to hate that I cared so much, so I did it anyway."

"How long?" Fuji asked, his voice so mild and unassuming it was as if he were afraid to disturb the surface of the lake and send Tezuka fleeing. He needn't have bothered. The flood gates were open.

"A couple of weeks, that's all. Once it started... For a while, it seemed like there was no going back. I'd already made the worst mistakes so how much more harm could there be in continuing it…? But I knew that was a lie, and eventually I started to realize... I knew what I had to do and I did it. I thought that would be the biggest tragedy I had to face. I never would have guessed…” His heart broke a fraction more.

"Do you miss her?" Again, Fuji sounded hesitant, but this time it was because the question was fraught with dangerous nuance. After all, Tezuka wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.

Tezuka considered that question for some time. "I miss having my own room in my own home, my own belongings... But I never had a mother to miss... until now. I never knew what I was missing until I met Rinko. Mother... She was just there. She fed me and bought me things and praised me when I did well and scolded me when I didn't meet her expectations but none of that made her a mother. I just never understood that until now."

"I never liked visiting your house," Fuji confessed, and Tezuka wondered if there was an intentional barb in there meant to prick another tiny hole in him. "I couldn't put my finger on it but when you put it that way... I guess it always felt kind of cold."

He wasn’t wrong. "I think... I remind her too much of my father," Tezuka whispered. He'd never met his father. All he knew was that his parents had never gotten divorced. They remained married by law but that was the end of it. He rarely wondered what had happened between his parents, but now... "If he was gay, maybe that would explain-"

"Nothing. There's no excuse, Tezuka. You don't have to try and find one for her."

When Tezuka's eyes opened, his lashes were heavy with dew that he tried to blink away. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. "For listening. I should have told you from the start."

Fuji sighed, staring into his eyes with a helplessness that was unnatural to him. "It wouldn't have changed anything. I still would have been jealous and angry, and I probably would have made all the same mistakes one way or another. The shock that really snapped me out of it wasn't seeing her hit you... It was the look in your eyes when she showed up. I hope I never see that look on anyone's face ever again. I'm ashamed to think that I had a hand in putting it there."

"I can't go back," Tezuka choked. "I can't stay here forever... but I can't go back."

"Don't you dare go back," Fuji reiterated. "At least here... At least everyone's facing the issues and dealing with them. It still doesn't really make sense to me but somehow it feels less insane the longer I spend around you all."

"Sometimes it feels like maybe it's not the end of the world and that's dangerous. If I let my guard down..."

"So don't, but Tezuka... There's something else we need to talk about."

"What?"

"Ryouma." Fuji rolled over and sat up, looking down at Tezuka with a serious expression. "Don't look at me like that. It’s not jealousy. I was going to apologize yesterday, you know, and then I saw you kissing... I still can't believe-" A struggle came over his features but it soon passed. He took a breath, licked his lips, and then looked Tezuka right in the eyes. "Forget that asshole old man. That's a whole different issue. I'm worried about Ryouma. You can't possibly tell me you're in love with them both. You need to know that Ryouma's not messing around—you had an affair with his dad and he still wants you. Do you even get what that means? That’s not a crush, Tezuka. Not that I… Look, he’s not like me. He's not... sexually driven. He thinks with his heart, not his head. That he would even let you touch him let alone kiss him... You can't mess with him like this."

He ran from Fuji's piercing gaze, rolling onto his back and throwing his arm over his eyes. "I'm not messing with him," Tezuka argued with conviction. "I told you, that kiss was between Ryouma and myself. I've been completely honest with him about what I feel... and what I am unsure of."

"How can-!" There was a rustling as Fuji made to stand but it paused and stopped, then there came the noise of a body flopping heavily back down to the sheets. "Forget it. It's none of my business.”

Just like that, they were back at square one—but at least they were on the board at all.

*

It was one of those Saturday mornings when the world seems to come to a halt for a little while. Cartoons define the boundaries of the world, breakfast is cooked and eaten leisurely, and even the cat isn't interested in setting foot outside and making something of the day.

The three boys took over the living room, talking little and communicating even less. Karupin had made herself at home atop Tezuka's chest as he lay on the couch, pinning him there for the foreseeable future, so Ryouma and Fuji got comfortable on the floor, leaning back against the couch. Ryouma used his captain's thighs as a pillow and was subtly impressed by the muscle that made them a pretty terrible headrest even while resenting Fuji for hanging around where he wasn’t wanted or needed.

Tension and all, they might have simply stayed that way forever... but around noon, the doorbell rang. Karupin didn't even twitch and Fuji threw a look at Ryouma as if to say, "It's your house," so the boy who bore the name painted on a piece of wood out by the front gate reluctantly got up with much huffing and display of his inconvenience, and trudged to the door.

For just one brief moment, he was tempted to close it again immediately.

He loved his team. All of them. He just didn't want all of them here, right now, when he was struggling to deal with just one guest. Well, now he knew why that guest was persistently ignoring the fact that he had long out-stayed his welcome. Fuji must have arranged this.

"Get changed, you're coming out," Momo told him brightly.

"That goes for everyone!" Oishi called. "No excuses!"

Eventually, Ryouma, Fuji... and a very reluctant Tezuka (wearing big round spectacles similar to—but not nearly as suitable as—a certain Hyoutei player's) joined the rest of the team out in the sunshine and fresh air. Despite himself, Ryouma couldn’t help finding a continuous font of amusement and interest in those silly glasses. They didn't help to make Tezuka look attractive—that would have been impossible—but it was interesting that Ryouma found him attractive regardless. Inui might have said it was pure chemistry. In fact, that was probably what he was scribbling into his little pocket book when he thought Ryouma was too smitten to notice.

They ended up at a laser tag facility, of all places. For the most part, the teams were split down party lines with the first-year trio divided between them. Horio kept staring at Tezuka in something akin to awe. He must have heard something of the facts at some point.

Fuji brazenly assumed command of his side, ordering Kawamura, Inui, Kaidou, Kachirou, and Katsuo to disperse and promptly disappearing himself. Meanwhile, Ryouma looked to Tezuka but the captain shook his head. “I think this is your battle,” he said quietly.

So be it. Ryouma sent the Golden Pair off to work as a team of offensive scouts, instructed Momo to defend their base, and warned Horio not to die. He then weighed his options, looked his captain up and down, smirked, and sent him out into the field as bait.

It was like seeing the Tezuka Zone demonstrated by human pawns. They swarmed him. Kawamura rushed in head-long and the two first-years followed, which drew Horio away from Ryouma’s base to rush to the captain’s defense. Ryouma rolled his eyes and sniped Kachirou, then scanned the field for the top of Inui’s head or a glint of glasses. He knew the data specialist would be watching and waiting. Instead, he fund Kaidou, but rather than taking out the viper, he waited for the telltale motion nearby that gave away Inui who Kaidou was obviously guarding. The data specialist went down.

A whirl of red and Taka-san went sprawling before he could take out Tezuka, who finished off Katsuo with a nod of respectful apology. In a rage, Kaidou took pot shots until he finally hit Kikumaru, which set off Oishi. 

However, contrary to Ryouma’s expectations, Kaidou retreated. Fuji must have signaled him to guard the base…

That meant Fuji was closing in on Ryouma’s territory. While Oishi went in gun blazing and Tezuka cautiously advanced, Ryouma kept his eyes out. He was startled when a cry went up from Momo and realized too late that he had neglected to watch his own territory. He dashed toward the base… and then realized his mistake.

Fuji wasn’t after their base. He was after Tezuka.

He’d always been after Tezuka.

The captain went down with a little red dot flaring behind his heart. At the same moment, war cries went up simultaneously from Oishi and Kaidou, followed by mutual notes of despair.

Just like that, it was down to Ryouma and Fuji.

Suddenly, Ryouma didn’t want to play anymore. 

This wasn’t some dramatic showdown that would heal all wounds and lock their fates. If Fuji won, Ryouma wasn’t going to relinquish Tezuka… even if Tezuka was his to relinquish in the first place. If Ryouma won, Fuji wasn’t going to just give up and let it go. The only thing this could achieve would be to widen the rift even further. 

They shouldn’t have split the teams this way. They should have ignored the politics and divided up in a way that friends who had been at odds would be looking out for each other, watching each others’ backs. This was too divisive, too aggressive, and Ryouma was sick and tired of it all.

Frustrated, he walked out into the unprotected center of the field, picked up Katsuo’s discarded laser gun, pointed it toward himself, and fired. Fuji could have their base. He didn’t care.

Sitting heavily, he hung his head and waited for the game to end. But it didn’t happen the way he expected.

Footsteps alerted him and he looked up to see Fuji standing in front of him. He expected gloating. When Fuji took the gun from his hands, he anticipated smug taunts and a clatter as the weapon was tossed aside. 

Except, it wasn't tossed or discarded at all. Fuji raised it and pointed the barrel at himself.

"What are you doing?" Ryouma snapped.

"Well now that we're here, don't you think this is a more interesting ending?" Fuji asked, his expression as blank and unreadable as ever.

"It's not an ending at all!" Ryouma argued.

He'd lost! He had accepted that in a way—accepted that he would still have to fight for Tezuka and fight for himself, as well; to fight Fuji and anyone else who tried to hurt them or take Tezuka away... It was just a stupid game a of laser tag but for a short while, it had seemed so symbolic... and Fuji was just laughing in his face.

"It will do."

Startled, Ryouma's neck cracked as he whipped around to see Tezuka, still sitting almost forgotten where he had been taken out of action.

"Don't do it, Fuji! We can win!!!" urged Kawamura, waving the butt of his gun in the air.

"I didn't prepare enough Penal-tea for both teams," grumbled Inui's deep voice from out of sight.

An agitated hiss backed up a cry of, "Do it, Fuji! Save us!!!" in a high tone so desperate it could only be Kikumaru.

"Eiji's right! If you do this, Fuji, the whole team will be in your debt!" Oishi bartered.

"Except Inui-senpai," Kachirou pointed out, only to grunt in pain as he was kicked in the shin by Katsuo.

"Fuji-sempai... I'm too young to die!" came Horio's wail.

"Yeah, he's only got two years of tennis experience!" Momo jibed! "That's not nearly enough! Think of poor Horio!"

Ryouma rolled his eyes and huffed, averting his gaze. He wasn't going to give Fuji the satisfaction of knowing just how much he didn't want to drink that stupid penalty drink.

He definitely wasn't going to do Fuji the honor of watching his ridiculously dramatic and feminine fall after the shot went off. Not only was it not a real bullet but there wasn't even a sensation of impact. His vest just lit up with a red outline to denote his team. The play-acting was entirely superfluous.

"Ry...o...uma."

It didn't make any sense that Ryouma's eyes stung with the ghosts of tears. It made even less that he wanted to respond and play and flirt like he would have done a few weeks ago. He could have done... but not with Tezuka's eyes on him, waiting for him to give in... If he did, the fragile thread between him and Tezuka would snap, he knew. If he went back to Fuji there could never be anything between Ryouma and his captain because all that held them together was the strength and purity of his own feelings.

He got to his feet and began to remove the vest without looking back at Fuji, but Tezuka's voice stopped him.

"I'd like to play another round..."

*

"That wasn't so bad," Tezuka prompted, urging Ryouma out of his sullen silence. "We three make a great team!"

"You mean six," Ryouma corrected dutifully.

Tezuka laughed, reflecting on the bumbling efforts of the other three first-years, who went down spectacularly in every round. Once teamed up, he, Ryouma, and Fuji never fell once. They were a solid wall of defense and an offensive barrage all in one, and for various reasons, they had each other's backs—as long as they were on the same side.

The games had gotten off to a rocky start but Ryouma's and Fuji's combined actions—as well as Inui's villainy—had brought the team together again. All were grateful, and all were tuckered out. 

Feeling glad at heart for the first time in a long while, Tezuka excused himself as they entered the house, deciding to head straight for the shower and recuperate a little under the hot water. Later, he was ashamed to admit how hypocritical he often was about letting down his guard...

*

It wasn't that the bathroom door didn't lock... but usually it was easy to tell if someone was inside. You could see the light spilling out from under the door and if someone was using the shower or sink, the running water was a dead giveaway. In fact, unless one was intentionally trying to be quiet, there were all sorts of noises that would give one's presence away. Why lock a door in your own home?

But Tezuka wasn't paying attention to the light and he only paused momentarily to listen out for any sounds that would indicate the bathroom was occupied. Meanwhile, Nanjirou was indeed endeavoring to stay as silent as possible because he didn't want anyone to know he was in there doing what he was doing. Ironically, that was also why he didn't lock the door, because a locked door would arouse suspicion. In retrospect, that would have been a small price to pay...

It wasn't easy seeing Tezuka every single day. Neglected by his wife in punishment, he was further tormented by the sight, scent, and sound of a boy that drove him certifiably insane. He had to deal with the cruel temptation one way or another—and one way was certainly better than another, no matter what anyone might say about the shamelessness and debauchery of self-gratification.

If only he had chosen a better place and time to sink to the floor of the bathroom and lose himself in memories, stroking himself toward completion with thoughts of Tezuka in his head and whispers on his tongue. He told himself it was Rinko's fault for forcing him into proximity with the boy, as if he were some clever saint with actual self-control and no desire to touch, kiss, and defile his former lover at all. Maybe if he'd given in earlier and gotten it over and done with before the boys got home from wherever they had been all afternoon... Maybe if he'd kept some of his wits about him and at least scrambled to hide what he had been doing...

As it was, he simply froze mid-gasp, staring up into Tezuka's shocked eyes with his hips thrust up and his cock in his fist. Tezuka wasn't frozen, though. He flushed red, took a step forward, and pulled the door shut behind him, stupidly trapping them both inside rather than putting himself on the other side of the door.

They were both painfully aware of that strategic error and its ramifications the moment it played out.

*

A lot of words came to mind. Mostly stupid cliche's that surged to the tip of one's lips and then died of shame because they were exquisitely stupid questions like, "What are you doing?” and, "Why are you doing it?"

A second wave of questions with less concrete but still obvious answers tried to present itself for inspection. "Did you just gasp my name?" "Why are you still lounging there, holding yourself?" "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Tezuka gulped them all down and tried to tell himself to stop staring. It was rude. Worse, it was dangerous.

He'd almost forgotten the hidden wonders of Nanjirou's physique. He'd almost learned to mask the memories of tanned skin flushed with uneven patches of pink and the slight sparkle of perspiration that accompanied the man's aroused state. He'd almost convinced himself he didn't have an addiction to danger... and to Nanjirou in general.

It didn't matter. He understood within seconds that time wasn't a factor. There was no "almost" because he would never reach the goal. A week, a month, a decade... One slip and it would all come rushing back as it did the moment he opened that damn door.

In his head, he said the words "I have to go," over and over again, as if they would manifest themselves aloud if he thought them enough times. In the meantime, he gently and thoroughly transferred his weight until he wasn't sure if the door was holding him up or if he was barring it shut. His eyes remained locked on Nanjirou and as the seconds dragged out, the understanding that he wasn't going anywhere just yet settled upon them both.

Nanjirou cranked awkwardly into motion, fist first. Very slowly and deliberately, he began to push his hips into his hand, clenching his belly and then releasing the tension with slow, quiet breaths.

When he came, his eyes widened rather than closing, and a sliver of sound passed through his lips as they formed four syllables. Contextually, Tezuka understood even though he couldn't quite hear.

"Kunimitsu."

Then Nanjirou's body went lax and his other palm, the clean one, crossed his face, fingers holding his eyelids closed as if in chastisement for daring to behold the object of his desire.

"Forgive me," he whispered.

At last, those words broke the spell and Tezuka spoke the phrase running on repeat in his head then fled to his room, locking the door without hesitation and cupping his groin almost painfully as if he could crush the welling of want that gripped him.

For just a little while, shame melted away as the heat of desire burned hot within him. He stoked the fire, and fanned it until the embers popped and crackled, and burned to ash; until he was sated.

Almost immediately, he scrambled for a issue to clean himself up and disposed of the evidence. He glared at the trash as if it were to blame.

He didn't have to give in to the urge to dwell on what he had seen. He didn't have to stay and watch. He didn't have to close himself inside the bathroom to begin with. 

But he felt like he did. All of those actions seemed out of his control and he was afraid of what that meant.

When Rinko called out to him to join them for dinner, he felt sick. His eyes kept straying back to the trash, atop which floated a wad of tissue. If she saw it, she would know. He was sure of it. 

Spying the tip of his English notebook protruding from his schoolbag, Tezuka rushed over and ripped out a number of blank pages, tossing them into the trash and compressing them down to cover his shame.

He contemplated his work.

It was no good. Rinko would surely wonder why he was throwing out so many blank pages. She would know! She’d know what he had done and what he felt! She’d know the betrayal in his heart!

The only thing for it was to remove the evidence. He grabbed up the trash and tied a tight knot in the bag, intending to hurry it out and then duck into the shower. His heart jolted painfully in shock when he opened the door and came face to face with Rinko.

“Kunimitsu? Are you coming for dinner?”

“I… had some work to complete. I still haven’t taken a shower,” he said. “I’ll just take out the trash and shower, and then I’ll eat later, if that’s alright.”

Smiling kindly, she reached for the bag. “Don’t worry about the trash. I’ll do that.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Tezuka argued, feeling like his face was a wooden mask painted over with obvious deceit. “I should take on some chores. As long as I’m here.” 

“I appreciate that,” Rinko told him warmly. “And I’m sure Ryouma will, too!” 

*

That night, Tezuka spent a lot of time alone in his room, and when he had to leave it, he listened carefully for Nanjirou's voice or footsteps, determined not to run into him. Or anyone else, if he could avoid it.

As it turned out, he could not.

At about 10:50, when the house should have been still and quiet, a soft knock at his door caused a layer of ice to develop all along Tezuka's spine. He was so terrified to face Nanjirou and to confront the tension between them that he was almost relieved when a small voice murmured, "Buchou?"

Relief was short-lived. There was just as much reason to fear Ryouma... and also too many reasons as to why he couldn't deny the boy. Guilt-ridden, he reached for the handle.

"Please. I know you're awake," Ryouma said quietly, before he could open the door.

Sighing, Tezuka did, and then kicked himself for the outward expression of his reluctance. He saw on Ryouma's face that the boy interpreted it as such. So he said, "Come in," even as his instincts screamed for retreat.

Ryouma closed the door behind him, stared at the ground a moment, then looked up at Tezuka with an ember of anger in his eyes. "What did I do?" he asked. The question was more aggressive than aggrieved. 

Tezuka shook his head. He was about to deny any reason for the question but Ryouma preempted him.

"You started avoiding me the moment we got home. So what did I do?"

Sink or swim. He couldn't tell the truth... so he had to lie.

"I needed some time to myself. To think."

"About what?"

"You. Us. I..."

He witnessed the tears begin to form in Ryouma's eyes and immediately understood that he could not say what Ryouma anticipated in that moment, not without destroying them both and what little peace either of them might ever find. He held his breath for one frozen beat of time, and in that pause, he came to an understanding.

He could not be with Nanjirou, no matter how much he wanted to. That was a dead end that he would die throwing himself up against. There was a rock fall behind him, too, barring the way back. The only way out was a narrow gap to the side. It wouldn't be easy to squeeze through. It wouldn't be comfortable. It might lead to another dead end. But it was the only option.

"I'm ready," he lied. "If you still... If..."

It wasn't so hard. Ryouma came from good stock—the best. Those pretty golden eyes were earnest and inviting... and it suddenly occurred to Tezuka that he knew the answer to something Ryouma had once questioned. If he had never fallen in love with Nanjirou... it probably would have been only a matter of time before Ryouma had stolen his heart.

That was the truth and it settled him somewhat. His hands came to rest on Ryouma's waist and he leaned in to press their lips together. It was strange, bending down so far. With Nanjirou, he had to reach up a little...

The growl was to shake thoughts of his former lover from his head but Ryouma took it as frustration for the over-sized glasses frames that bumped between their cheeks. He chuckled softly and plucked them from Tezuka's nose. The world blurred, but it didn't matter, because there was darkness behind his eyelids as their lips met in a kiss tempered with uncertainty. 

Little by little, they worked out how to mesh, how to bend and how to reach, how to give and how to take. It was so very different... but it was also refreshing. Ryouma was a combination of innocence and confidence. His experience with Fuji probably outweighed that of Tezuka's with Nanjirou, and yet he was incredibly light and teasing about it all. His tongue dipped and retreated while his lips opened and closed in sweet little pecking motions. He gradually drew out the length of each brush of their tongues until they were lip-locked and their tongues entwined.

By the time Ryouma ended the kiss, he was quite in control, and Tezuka felt a bit overwhelmed. He stared blurredly at the boy, feeling at a loss. Had he thought Ryouma would be less sullied than he? Less capable than Nanjirou? He should have known that any kind of relationship with Fuji would have put an end to all that.

It was a relief. There was less purity for his stained soul to tarnish.

After the dam broke, there was no holding back. Tezuka soon found his confidence, and he embraced it with as much relish as he now embraced Ryouma.

As he traced tanned skin with his tongue, caught patches of flesh playfully between his teeth, and drew out little mewls that were moans in disguise, he wondered what had been wrong with him before all this. How had he never noticed the dark radiance of Ryouma's coloring? How had he never heard the eroticism of that deep but soft voice? How had he not been riled by the passionate spirit that resided within such a small frame?

He could only assume he had, in fact, been blind, deaf, and dumb—in the mental sense. He saw now. He heard now. He understood, now.

"Buchou... I need you to kiss me. And don't stop or I'll scream."

How could Tezuka deny a request like that? He lowered his mouth to Ryouma's and sucked on Ryouma's reaching tongue as he positioned himself, then he locked lips with the boy, fitting the head of his erection into his little lover's body. Little sounds and vibrations tickled Tezuka's tongue as he pushed his way inside until Ryouma was practically humming into his mouth.

Seated almost as far as he could go, Tezuka stilled. He weaned his lips from Ryouma's, pursed them, and made a very quiet shushing sound. Then he captured the boy's mouth again, drew back, and began a gentle rocking to acclimatize them both to the sensation of their joined bodies.

For a while, the only sounds were those of their skin chaffing and heavy breaths in and out through the nose. Then Tezuka's hips angled and a startled mewl slipped from Ryouma's lips. 

It was answered by a noise from beyond the door that caused them both to freeze and Tezuka to raise his head, clapping his palm over Ryouma's mouth. Belatedly, he realized it was the feline whine of Karupin accompanied by an insistent scratching, and he let out a gush of relief.

For a moment, he tucked his head into Ryouma's shoulder and took a few deep breaths, wondering what the hell he was doing. If they got caught...

"Buchou..."

Ryouma's breath wasn't the only thing at his ear. Teeth grazed his lobe and the soft, wet caress of a tongue flicked along the sensitive skin.

Tezuka rose, looking down at the boy, so flushed and wanting. He pressed his finger to swollen red lips and traced them until they swallowed the tip of his digit.

A moment later, the handle rattled and the door cracked open, just wide enough to admit the cat, and then clicked closed. Tezuka's heart pounded in his chest and he shuddered with shock and a strange thrill of arousal.

Karupin trotted past them and curled up beside the futon, closing her eyes contentedly now that she was near her best boy. Who had let her in? Rinko? ...Nanjirou? What if they had taken a moment to look in on him...? Did they know Ryouma was in here? Had Karupin's insistence given away his presence?

Taking in more of Tezuka's finger, Ryouma sucked on it as if to say, "Buchou, it's fine. Get on with it." Insolent brat. As it was, Tezuka was throbbing with need and Ryouma was so tight around him that just the act of breathing applied enough of a shift in pressure that he could get off at any moment whether they continued or not. Belatedly, he realized this was his first time on top and he was alive with the sensation.

Re-positioning strategically, Tezuka planted his elbows beside Ryouma's head and slid his knees right in under the boy's thighs to deepen the angle. He wasn't going to last long and it wasn't safe to try. With one smouldering stare into Ryouma's eyes, he conveyed his intentions and then kissed his lover hard, sealing their lips even as he thrust forward and began nailing Ryouma into the futon as swiftly and quietly as possible.

There was no stopping the little noises that came from Ryouma's throat but they were muted by the kiss even though Tezuka heard them loud and clear. They only drove him on toward completion, until a growl of his own rumbled around their twined tongues and he shuddered out his release. Hips locked, both boys jerked and trembled, choking back cries and suppressing the urge to gasp and pant.

The orgasms passed slowly as a result and they both lay there, muscles slowly unlocking and going limp, one at a time. Tezuka's nose was buried in Ryouma's hair and he smelled a delightful combination of light sweat and orange scent that enhanced his growing sense of relaxation.

It didn't last long, though. The lingering fear of exposure bid him to rise and hide the evidence of what they had done. More evidence... More wrongdoing.

Instead of less guilt for assuaging his lust in someone other than Nanjirou... there was more. 

Tezuka didn't regret the sex in itself, nor the awakening of his feelings towards Ryouma, but his motives were no clearer to him after the act and that bothered him a great deal. He'd thought he would find answers. Instead, he only had more questions. 

Ryouma lay there and watched him move, pillowing his head and bending his knees. He seemed comfortable and a little bemused, much like the cat who observed lazily through one cracked eyelid as Tezuka snatched up several handfuls of tissues and went to work. When his initial frenzy settled and he sank back against the wall, away from the futon, Ryouma rose and moved to sit beside him, wrapping his arms about Tezuka's body and pillowing his head against the good shoulder. 

"It's ok," he said. "I was scared, too. I have doubts, too. You don't have to have all the answers... Just tell me it was good."

Tezuka's guts uncoiled at Ryouma's astute words and he pressed a long kiss to the crown of a dark head. "It was," he enthused. "That was..." the best orgasm I've ever had. "Intense."

"As good as...?"

"Better. I... Ryouma-"

"Shhhh."

One last, deep kiss, and then Ryouma stood and gathered his clothes. He dressed quickly and silently and then scooped up Karupin so he could walk calmly down the hall and make his way upstairs, and—for now—pretend this had never happened.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable A-sama cameo...

It was a small bar; the kind one wouldn't even notice unless looking for a place of just that sort. It wasn't a clean bar, or a popular one. It was the kind of place with a regular clientele of three, a few semi-regular drop-ins, and the rare stranger like Tezuka.   
  
Panic was a funny thing. When it took hold, it did so suddenly and wholly. It whisked you out onto the streets in the middle of the night, twisted fears into terrors, and stripped reason and logic from memory. It led you into a fast and furious nose-dive.   
  
The owner didn't look twice at the middle schooler, dropping his eyes back to the bills he was totaling until his service was specifically requested. It wasn't, right away.   
  
Tezuka had walked in there in a fit of weakness, a seed of rebellion burrowing into the depths of his belly. Why not? He was an adulterous homewrecker who slept with both married men and their underage sons. He was a runaway. He was a failure.   
  
All his airs of discipline and propriety were a smoke screen for the rot festering in his soul. He may as well let his body rot, too.   
  
What would do it best? Vodka? Whiskey? What was the drink of choice for drowning oneself in liquid misery?   
  
Better yet, what was the drink of choice for getting blind drunk on the emergency stipend gifted by one's former lover and his devastatingly understanding wife (...mother to his gut-wrenchingly naive son, now also one's former lover)?   
  
"I'd like a beer, please."   
  
The owner didn't look up, scratching a long, angry strike through his calculations and flipping the page of his little balance book.   
  
"Pick something else."   
  
"Excuse me?" Tezuka questioned in affront.   
  
He wasn't the expert but he didn't think that was how transactions over a bar were supposed to go, even in a hole in the wall like this.   
  
At last, the man looked up, straightening his glasses. "No beer until the first of the month. You want beer, go somewhere else."   
  
Tezuka met his frank stare with a little lift of the chin. He wasn't afraid of betraying his age. He had no innocence left to give him away.   
  
"What's cheapest?"   
  
"Jinro."   
  
"Jinro, then."   
  
Tezuka had seen the label before but he had no idea what kind of alcohol it was. He didn't care.   
  
All he could think about was how unfaithful he was; to his feelings for Nanjirou, to Rinko's trust, and to Ryouma's sincerity. He'd heard that alcohol could make you forget, at least for a while. He'd give anything to forget.   
  
Forget he'd ever met Nanjirou.   
  
Forget he'd ever begun to feel anything for Ryouma.   
  
Forget he'd started thinking of Rinko like a mother-figure to replace the mother who never had been.   
  
If anything would do that, it was the nasty rat poison in the glass he had brought so unassumingly to his lips. Half a second later, he was burning, coughing, and furiously blinking away tears.   
  
"This is foul!" he complained.   
  
"You wanted cheap. For shouchu, it's not bad. You'll warm to it."   
  
Tezuka doubted that, but he took another reluctant mouthful with a grimace. Halfway through the glass, he stopped tasting the initial, rancid assault. It began to go down more smoothly, and if he just kept on sipping at it, the awful aftertaste didn't overwhelm so much. Now and again, his throat protested by shutting the gates, but Nanjirou had taught him to stifle his gag reflex, and he overcame it without flinching.   
  
Soon, he was on his second glass, and another man--the kind who was so frequent a customer he was practically part of the furniture—had taken up a seat further down the bar, chatting loudly with the suddenly-very-accommodating owner. The words turned to cacophony in Tezuka's ears as he sat and stared into what he'd learned was shouchu. He felt lighter, somehow... Disconnected.   
  
He didn't forget, though. Thinking of Ryouma, he felt sad, but not for himself. He'd wanted what he had felt to be enough—to eclipse the old flame for Nanjirou. It might have been awkward when it got out, but he and Ryouma might have been happy, and just maybe, Rinko and Nanjirou might have come to be happy for them. Instead, he found himself unable to quite untangle his love for Nanjirou from the affection he had tried to nurture into something stronger.   
  
He shouldn't have let Ryouma manipulate him into physicality so soon. Now, it was too late to take it back and his heart was still tainted.   
  
At the top of the third glass, he was contemplating a wildly unlikely alternate reality where Rinko led him up to the bedroom she shared with Nanjirou and a bed covered in rose petals, and gave them her blessing. Ryouma showed up in the fantasy during the third glass, too. He was all wide, innocent eyes, and coy cuddles; claiming he didn't care anymore; that he just wanted to be with Tezuka, even if his dad was, too.   
  
It was a ridiculous, completely unrealistic, and impossible fantasy. It made Tezuka cry.   
  
Head resting on his palm, he tracked the passage of the first fat tear down his cheek. Then the dam groaned under pressure and he clenched his eyes shut, stifling a sob. It was fine if he cried, as long as he did it in silence without drawing attention.   
  
When the tears passed, he was floating in a cocktail of drunkenness and exhaustion, and beginning to feel a little unwell. It was late; past midnight. He couldn't go home like this...   
  
He had no home.   
  
That wasn't true, and he knew it. Rinko's face came to mind and he wished he had more tears to cry.   
  
It wasn't anywhere near perfect, and he was nothing but trouble, but he was welcome in the Echizen household; mistakes, failures, and all. All the more reason he couldn't return there as he was.   
  
Nor could he bother his friends and teammates; especially not Fuji. He'd just fall right into bed with the tensai and then he'd have scored the trifecta of bad romantic decisions.   
  
No, there was only one person he could prevail upon; one person who didn't live far, and who had transportation at his beck and call. It made sense at the time, even before he began on the second bottle of Jinro.   
  
*   
  
Atobe had heard rumors. He hadn't believed them for a fraction of a second, but he'd heard them. With the obliterated wreckage of his fondly admired rival hanging off a street lamp at a precarious angle, he was willing to consider the possibility that there may be some truth to the absurd gossip.   
  
"Well, well. You always did have a thing for spirals and self destruction. There's something to be said for sticking to a motif."   
  
The slurred response was incoherent, so Atobe hauled an arm over his shoulder and tried to help Tezuka to the limousine. When it became apparent that progress was impossible, he made a grand effort and swung Tezuka up into his arms. He was too prideful to admit it aloud, but lifting a man of similar height and weight to himself was no easy feat. Why did Tezuka have to break down while Kabaji was visiting family?   
  
When they reached the car—door held open by a sheepish driver who wouldn't have been able to carry tennis' tiniest, let alone Tezuka—Atobe slid into the seat with Tezuka still clinging to him. The Seigaku captain showed no signs of letting go, so Atobe sighed and settled more comfortably.   
  
"What have you done to yourself?" he lamented aloud.   
  
"I'm making it easy for you," Tezuka drawled, his tongue catching and sticking on several words. Atobe wasn't going to play the game of asking stupid questions to clarify stupid statements, but Tezuka answered the unasked question anyway. "To finish me off."   
  
That earned a chortle. His idea of finishing Tezuka off was probably vastly different to what Tezuka had in mind. What was he, a saint? Tezuka, drunk and vulnerable in his arms, desperately clutching his body and clothes to keep the world from spinning...   
  
"Get some rest. I'm not carrying you all the way to your room."   
  
"We could just stay in the car."   
  
"First of all: What 'we?' I'll be sleeping in my own comfortable bed, thank you very much. Secondly: If you think I'm leaving you to throw up over these quality leather seats, you're overestimating my patience."   
  
"I'm not... going... to throw up."   
  
"Oh, good."   
  
*   
  
Tezuka clung to the rim of the bath, hanging his head over expensive porcelain splashed with the contents of his stomach—mostly bile. He hadn't eaten much in his distress, but that didn't stop the retching.   
  
"Clean that up," instructed a deep voice, oddly calming, for all its irritation.   
  
For a moment, Tezuka tried to comply, thinking the order for him, but then he heard a woman respond and the tension went out of him. A wet towel pulled the worst of the tainted spittle from his chin and then he was pulled back into strong, stable arms that helped to quell the nausea. Atobe had a surprisingly gentle touch, lightly brushing his fingers across Tezuka's forehead.   
  
For a little while, Tezuka had been tempted to seduce his rival captain. Now, he regretted that alcohol poisoning had gotten in the way. More importantly, he had to make it clear how sorry and grateful he was for this care.   
  
"Next time, I'll crush you."   
  
That ought to get his feelings across nicely.   
  
"Oh, don't thank me yet. I called Fuji to come deal with you. He should be here soon."   
  
Fuji? Oh, no... No, no, no... Anyone but Fuji.   
  
"Oh my god... Tezuka!"   
  
Too late.   
  
"I had the maid run a lukewarm bath."   
  
What? When?   
  
"I shall deign to take care of his clothes."   
  
Good plan. Warm hands, firm but caring. A little exploratory... If only Tezuka didn't still feel so ill.   
  
"Drink up."   
  
Fuji's voice. Soft... weak. Concerned.   
  
"Well then, Tezuka's naked. I suggest you get him into the bath and help him sober up."   
  
"Atobe, I can't move him by myself. What if something happens? Please, don't leave."   
  
"Oh, very well. Stand aside."   
  
The world rocked, squeezed, and felt very, very ill. Then it was warm and soft. A moment later, it was suffocating, but also heavenly in his dry, dry mouth...   
  
And screaming; frantically shrieking his name.   
  
When the water levels began to sink, Tezuka realized he was in a bath, not a lake with a plug. He vaguely understood that he had been drowning.   
  
Belatedly, his very apathy struck fear into him and he sat upright, clutching at the wall and the edge of the tub.   
  
"You're ok," Fuji soothed, smoothing back his wet hair. "You're all right."   
  
Atobe, shirtless now, sat on the edge of the tub, holding him by the shoulders. Tezuka suddenly felt embarrassed for the support, but without it, he'd just slide back down into the bottom of the oversized tub. No wonder he'd sunk so far. The bath was enormous.   
  
"Just relax. I'll get you clean," Fuji promised, pressing a soaked hand-towel to Tezuka's chest and wiping him down.   
  
It felt good, and Tezuka closed his eyes, trusting to Atobe's hold. Fuji was kind... when he was so inclined.   
  
"Shampoo."   
  
"Thank you."   
  
A soothing scent permeated Tezuka's senses as dainty hands began to massage his scalp. It somehow made him feel stronger—more like himself.   
  
"Apple," he sighed. He leaned forward a little, taking in another scent that came with Fuji's proximity. "You smell good."   
  
"Well that makes one of us," Fuji griped.   
  
Tezuka opened his eyes for the first time in a while. His vision was blurry—he wasn't wearing his glasses—but Fuji was close. He could make out all the best features of the tensai.   
  
"Do you want to kiss me?"   
  
Fuji's hands paused in his hair.   
  
"I've waited three years for you to ask me that, and you do it when your breath smells like the interior of a goat's stomach? No thanks."   
  
*   
  
"Gum?" offered Atobe, endeavoring to be helpful.   
  
The vicious stare Fuji aimed over Tezuka's shoulder may have been for Atobe, but it incited a shudder down Tezuka's spine. Atobe squeezed his shoulders in sympathy and shot a cold stare back.   
  
"All I'm saying is that this will probably be the one and only time Mr. Perfect will ever be drunk enough not to remember you took advantage of him. Carpe diem."   
  
"First of all, that's called rape, you creep," snapped Fuji, standing up from his awkward lean against the bath.   
  
"I didn't say I would do it," retorted Atobe, judging that Tezuka was beginning to sober up enough to sit by himself and rinse off his own hair. "Then again, I wouldn't need to," he ribbed, gesturing down his glistening wet torso for emphasis. "Anyway, my point is, you reek of desperation."   
  
It wasn't a nice thing to say, but Atobe hadn't expected the sob that rocked Fuji's small frame as he covered his mouth and his body jerked. Instinctively, Atobe caught him up and held him when he sagged.   
  
"Look at him," Fuji wheezed. "I did this to him. I took his reputation in my hands and I tore it up into tiny little pieces, and then I shredded those again and again until there was nothing left to rip into. I took everything from him; his home, his pride... his hope. I broke him."   
  
Startled by the outpouring of guilt and devastation, Atobe stumbled a little and sank down against the bath, holding the sob-wracked tensai steady. He stared at that brown head in bemused surprise, then craned his neck to check that Tezuka was still safely seated. The Seigaku captain was swaying slightly and seemed ill again, but he was holding himself up and slowly rinsing his hair off one-handed, with soapy bathwater.   
  
"I thought... I told myself I was trying to help, but this was what I wanted! I wanted him shattered so I could put the pieces back together to my own design, but I can't! There's nothing left to piece together!"   
  
At a loss, Atobe knew he was not the one best equipped to handle the tensai's breakdown. As much as he might have rejoiced were there not, there was someone predisposed to that position. Perhaps he was the one Atobe should have called in the first place, but how was he to know Fuji was nursing such trauma of guilt and responsibility? If anything, he'd thought Fuji the perfect silent accomplice, who would take Tezuka's condition in stride and calmly patch together his captain's faltering reputation.   
  
There was nothing for it. Atobe thumbed through his address book one-handed. Kabaji usually lined up calls for him. The giant's organizational skills were a thing of wonder. Atobe didn't even know where Kabaji had procured the contact information of every tennis player Atobe never knew he might ever consider calling; current call included:   
  
"Echizen. I have two problems you need to come and take care of right away. First and foremost, I'll need you to pry the melodramatic queen you call a boyfriend off of my magnificent self, and then-"   
  
"Fuck. You." The nasty, clipped syllables astounded Atobe into silence. "...You shit-stained baboon's ass."   
  
Echizen hung up. Atobe's arm dropped to his side, the phone clattering to the tiles.   
  
He silently began to stroke the tensai's hair, keeping an ear out for the continued splashing sounds from above. He was beginning to reconsider his claim not to be a saint.

Then again... Somehow, Echizen's rudeness, Fuji's distress, and Tezuka's self-destruction were all connected. That much was clear. Perhaps there was more leeway than he had expected...   
  
Frankly, Atobe had been surprised to learn that the two stars of Seigaku's tennis club had not, in fact, been involved over the years. Until the Echizen brat had shown up, it had been a given among the tennis circles that Tezuka and Fuji were a silent couple. Studious and cautious Tezuka would never seek to publicize his humanity, and Fuji liked to keep people guessing.   
  
That the established secret relationship was an unfounded myth changed a great deal of Atobe's perceptions. That the public relationship between tensai and rookie seemed to have hit a snag was an even more actionable development... but this wasn't the time for opportunistic maneuvering. He had to shepherd these two through whatever crisis threatened to overwhelm them both and get some rest himself. He could ponder his options with a clearer head on the morrow. First, he had to help clear Fuji's.   
  
"Why don't you start over without all the hyperbole," Atobe encouraged, resigned to tackling one problem at a time.   
  
Fuji's grip tightened to an angry squeeze, but then he went lax. He crawled more comfortably into Atobe's hold, the flow of his tears stemming as he began to speak.   
  
"I always thought it would come right someday. Eventually, whatever held him back would shift and he'd realize I'd been there, waiting for him, all along. It felt like such a reasonable expectation... but now... it's gone. Now, I know he never saw me and never will. The only one he can see... is his kryptonite. It's going to kill him, one way or another."   
  
"What did I say about-?"   
  
"I'm not exaggerating." Fuji's voice was disturbingly flat. "I won't repeat my past mistakes by telling you why, but you can see for yourself how broken he is."   
  
"I thought you said that was your fault." It wasn't cruelty behind the words, but a desire for Fuji to recognize that his earlier delusion of guilt was a mistake. "Whoever this kryptonite is, perhaps you should let him shoulder the blame."   
  
"I do," Fuji answered immediately; coldly. "And when I find out what he's done now-"   
  
"He didn't do anything."   
  
The words came from Tezuka, accompanied by a great deal of sloshing and a smattering of rain over Atobe's head as Tezuka hung his upper body over the side of the bath, holding himself steady to say what he felt he needed to. Apparently, he'd emptied enough poison from his system to reach a level of sobriety where he could follow what was being said.   
  
"It's not his fault, or yours... It's mine," he drawled, sounding wretched. "I did something stupid. I thought... if I gave in to someone else... the heartache would go away. I thought I could move on. I should have known... I was only hurting one more person. I... wanted out. I ran away again... from a home I didn't know I had. I wanted to destroy myself and get so lost, none of you... would ever... find me. I let Ryouma believe... I could... change... I could... love him more... I could-"   
  
Fuji let out a wordless cry, resuming his sobbing into Atobe's arms. It made sense. Whatever had forced Tezuka out of his home and sent him into the Echizen household, it had twisted his judgement to the point where he had comforted himself with his new housemate... also known to be Fuji's boyfriend.   
  
Tezuka sighed, his slurred rant subsiding into regret. He moved about in the tub, presumably resting back against the head. That was where his voice next came from.   
  
"I'm drunk," he muttered redundantly. "I didn't know it would be... You weren't meant to know. Atobe, you jerk... Fuji wasn't meant to..."   
  
He trailed off in a sickly moan. Atobe was concerned by the sound, but to check on Tezuka, he would have to dislodge the grievously sobbing Fuji. This was beginning to be more than even he could handle alone. Curse Kabaji for being absent!   
  
"Fuji... I know you're in pain, and you have every right... but I can see that you care about Tezuka. Help me get him safely into bed with a maid watching over him, and then you can have my ear, or my shoulder to cry on. Whatever you prefer."   
  
"To hell with Tezuka!" snarled Fuji.   
  
All of a sudden, he rose up over Atobe and stripped off the loose sweater he had hauled over his bare torso when he dashed out to Tezuka's aid in the middle of the night. His eyes, swollen and glossy with moisture, now smoldered with a complicated mixture of heated emotions. Atobe himself was immobilized by the beautiful blue blaze in those eyes.   
  
When Fuji kissed him, he told himself he would break it off after just a moment of indulgence. He was fully aware of the awkward, volatile nature of the situation and knew he ought to put a stop to Fuji's sudden, aggressive advance right away.   
  
He was also tired, emotionally vulnerable from exposure to so much raw feeling, confused from being out of the loop, and frustrated from having been dragged into it anyway. Fuji's waist felt good in his hands, Fuji's tongue warm and wily, Fuji's intensity contagious...   
  
"Stop," he begged, the moment his lips were freed. "I don't know what has passed between you, but I won't be party to it; not like this."   
  
"Tell me you don't want me," Fuji growled.   
  
Atobe instantly recognized the vulnerability lurking beneath the challenge. What on Earth had he stumbled into?   
  
"Want of you isn't the issue," he said sternly. "What I don't want, is to abandon a friend to the perils of inebriation... and then to see you suffer the guilt of that, too."   
  
Some of the frantic tension drained from Fuji and he sat down atop Atobe's thighs, looking up into the bath. His expression was so desolate once more that it tugged at Atobe's heart strings.   
  
"Tezuka... I don't know what to do anymore."   
  
*   
  
What would, the following day, remain only as a vague recollection of hazy images, disengaged words, and overwhelming illness, was far more detailed and complicated in the present. Ever since he'd begun following Fuji's crying confession, Tezuka had felt with an odd clarity that he had to pull it together and explain what he had done. His failed attempt at doing so had been part due to the inability to coherently convey his swirling thoughts, part due to the awareness that there were details he needed to keep from Atobe, and part due to the distraction of his persistently churning gut. When would he cease to feel ill? When would the torment end?   
  
Despite his predicament, he was oddly happy for Fuji and Atobe when they started making out on the bathroom floor. Sure, it was a little offensive... insensitive... indecent... There was a lot wrong with it... but he was starting to think Atobe was a really good guy, and Fuji needed that. Whether he deserved it was another matter... but he did. He was Tezuka's friend, no matter what, and Tezuka was just as guilty of tearing Fuji's world apart. Fuji deserved to find someone who could see the best in him... and keep up with him... and...   
  
Urgh. Tezuka really did not want to throw up over himself now that he was clean.   
  
Blessedly, Atobe was there, hauling him up. Fuji came with a towel, wrapping him in dry warmth. They supported him together, on his knees, over the toilet.   
  
Later, there was mouthwash, water, and a fluffy robe. He was on the edge of a big, comfortable bed, and he knew the sickness would go away as soon as he lay down... but there was something he had to do first.   
  
Atobe and Fuji deserved a real shot, without secrets and misunderstandings between them. Tezuka had to tell his own secrets before Fuji was put in that difficult position.   
  
"I had an affair," he mumbled, eyes closed, willing the world to stop spinning. "With a married man... with Ry... with Echizen's... father." Why did all his symptoms seem a thousand times worse now that bed, sleep, and sweet oblivion were so close? Fuji kept trying to intercede and stop him from saying what he felt he must. It would be easier if he'd just let Tezuka get to the point. "My mother kicked me out, and now I'm living with Nanjirou and his family. I broke up Fuji and Echiz... Ryouma... and tonight... I slept with Ryouma. I shouldn't have. I don't blame you if you hate me, Fuji. I hate myself. I'm sorry you had to see me like this. I brought it on myself: not you... or Nanjirou... Just me."   
  
"Please, Tezuka, just go to sleep. I can't do this anymore, not tonight... Not at all. I'm done."   
  
"What does that mean?" Tezuka asked, fighting a wave of sickness as his eyes snapped open. The fear of losing his friend again after finally having made up, thanks to his mother's malice, twisted a cord he hadn't known was already so tightly wound. It hurt.   
  
"I don't know. Probably that what you do with Ryouma... or that man... or anyone else... isn't my business anymore. I guess it never was, but now... I'm not going to try and make it my business anymore. I'm done. I have to pick up my own pieces and figure out what to do with myself."   
  
"Yes. You should," Tezuka murmured, inexplicably horizontal, and floaty and warm with relief from sickness. "Good..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, so plans changed a bit as the chapter got written out from dialogue to prose but here's a fun little snippet of something I ended up cutting. ;)
> 
> Director's cut:
> 
> Atobe calls Oshitari to come help...
> 
> "Oshitari. I require your assistance."
> 
> "Can it wait-"
> 
> "Tezuka Kunimitsu is drunk in my bathtub, Fuji Sysuke is crying in my lap and Seigaku's darling, Echizen, just cussed me out."
> 
> "...And you called me?"
> 
> "Believe it or not, I'm not actually trying to complete the 'Seigaku Mental Breakdown Collection' so get your ass over here and help me deal with this soap opera."
> 
> Surprise! Oshitari shows up with Sanada (Yep. Oshitari and Sanada were together at the time of Atobe's call, and aint that a shocker!?) and they help put the two to bed...
> 
> ~fin~
> 
> Ahaha. I just had to share. It was a shame to have to cut it.
> 
> Meanwhile, there's a lot more underway! I've written ahead one or two chapters and now I'm just filling out all the prose. Expect at least one more chapter in the near future! (Maybe two!)


End file.
